Push and Pull
by FanFicReader13
Summary: Arya had decided he was fun to hit and insult, and Gendry seemed to have fun provoking her into hitting and insulting him. - Following Arya and Gendry's journey on the Kingsroad and across Westeros... Same story as Pull and Push (in the Game of Thrones section)
1. The Familiar Man

**AN: I don't know what came over me to start this fic, and I know it's been done before, but I wanted to make my own take. First, I would like to say Arya is a little older (almost 15) and I don't know how Gendry is (does anyone?) so I'm going to say he's around 16 or 17. We're starting off at the journey to the Wall, and I'm following the story pretty closely for now but I have plans for that to change. I will warn you if we get to spoilers for ASOS/Season 3. Anyways, if you like it review/favorite/follow and all of that great stuff. I'd also like to thank the Tower of the Hand website for reminding me of all the details I could not for the life of me remember. And of course, the rights belong to GRRM and the lovely people at HBO. **

Arya sat on a tree stump with Needle laid across her lap. Around her, men were preparing for the journey to the Wall. She could hear Yoren yelling at some poor boy about dropping a crate or something of the like. She knew she should help load the wagons, but Yoren had not asked her, and she felt too exhausted to really do anything at all.

She let her fingers trace up the blade, stopping once she reached the sharp point. She pondered on how she would stick Joffrey with it. Maybe in the gut? Or would she cut off his head like he did to her father? No, she would save that for the man that had swung the sword.

Her mind flashed back to the memory of her father's death. She remembered King Joffrey's order for his head, and Sansa's pleading for his life. She remembered being held against Yoren's chest, his large frame shielding her from the gruesome sight. But most of all, she remembered the sickening sound of steel slicing through her father's neck.

And then Yoren had carried her away. He cut her hair off in uneven chunks and repeated she was a "boy" as tears ran down her face. She didn't hear him, though. She was still trying to understand what had just happened. It just wasn't possible for him to be dead.

Now, she was Arry the orphan boy, a recruit of the Night's Watch. How long until Yoren had her safely back at Winterfell? How long until she was with her family? How long until she could be Arya Stark again?

"That's a pretty blade! You steal it?"

The voice shook her out of her daze. She tore her eyes from Needle to look at the voice's origin. A chubby boy who seemed close to her age stood before her, greedily eyeing her most prized possession.

"It was a gift," she said, rising from her seat, and made to turn away. But the boy shoved her on the ground, her body landing with a thump.

"How 'bout you gift it to me?" he asked, but she knew it wasn't a question.

Anger overriding her pain, she made herself jump back up. Arya waved her sword in the boy's face, threatening to slice at any moment.

"I already killed one fat boy," she told him, as he backed away. "I could kill another. I _like_ killing fat boys."

Behind the frightened boy, someone caught her eye. A well-muscled, tall man with black hair was talking with Yoren. He seemed… _familiar?_ But that couldn't be right, she was sure she had never met this man. She wanted to get closer, to hear what they were saying.

Suddenly, she was back on the ground. The boy must have noticed she was distracted and had used this to his advantage. She mentally cursed herself for being so foolish. What would her dancing partner say? _Every hurt is a lesson_, Syrio's voiced echoed.

Just as the boy made to grab her sword, the familiar man was there. "You like picking on the little ones, do you?"

His hand grabbed the fat boy's shoulder, roughly pulling him away from Arya. "Leave him alone," he said. She noticed that he towered over the boy, and that he noticed, too. Clearly not wanting a fight with this man, he practically ran away.

The familiar man came over to her and offered his hand to help her up. She immediately lost herself in his piercingly blue eyes. Where had she seen those eyes before?

"I'm Gendry," he said. She forced her eyes to drift down, realizing she had been staring.

She ignored his hand and stood up. "Why did you do that? I had it handled, stupid!"

A small smile spread across Gendry's face. "Really?"

Was he mocking her? "Yes! I was just about—"

"To get your sword stolen?"

Arya clenched her jaw, and then turned away, storming off.

She heard him chuckling behind her.

* * *

It was only the first day of their journey, and Arya was already uncomfortable. Sure, her legs were tired from walking, but that was not the reason of her unease. No, it was being a boy. It took at least 2 hours for her to have a chance to sneak off into the woods and relieve herself, and by that time she had felt as if she might explode. Secondly, the cloth bindings she had used to conceal her breasts were, well, binding. Arya was petite, around 5'2", and had slim hips and small breasts, but existent, none the less. She wished she had a baggier shirt, then she would be able to pass as a boy without these constrictions.  
So, when Yoren had noticed it was getting dark and ordered us to make camp, eager to relax, she was happy to oblige. As their first day of the journey was apparently something to celebrate, even if they hadn't made it very far, Yoren cooked up some rabbit and passed out the ale.

She sat alone beside the fire, already have eaten her share of the rabbit, she focused on her drink. People around her chatted and laughed. She spotted the boy who had tried to steal Needle, who she learned was called Hot Pie, hitting it off with another boy she had overheard was called Lommy. She saw Yoren alone, propped up against a tree, brooding and probably too drunk for his own good. Her eyes drifted over to the three men in the cage. One did not have a nose; she briefly wondered how that had happened. The second was bald and also fat, but he did not look like he lacked muscle. The pair did not look happy, as they had not been allowed any ale. The third did not seem bothered by his lack of drunkenness. He was not ugly like the others, she saw, with a slender frame and his fine-features. But his hair was unique to say the least, with half his hair being red and the other side white. Murderers, she had heard.

Just then she heard some sit beside her. She turned to see Gendry watching her with those familiar blue eyes of his. They were beautiful, she thought. Wait, what? She jerked her head back towards the fire.  
"How did you get that sword?" he asked.

She gave him the same answer she gave to Hot Pie, "It was a gift." It was the truth after all.

"From who?"

Did he believe her or was he just humoring her? She turned back to him. He was still looking at her. It didn't seem like he did not believe her. "From my brother, Jon," she smiled at the mention of her brother. But it faded instantly when she realized she had slipped up. Should she not have said Jon's name? Surely they are many other men named Jon in the world. It's fine, right?

"Did he steal it?"

"I didn't ask." This technically was not a lie. Why was he asking so many questions, anyway?

He nodded his head. "Where is your brother? Is he in King's Landing?"

No, she wanted to say, he left me for the Wall. Not in the mood to lie, she asked him a question of her own. "Why are you joining the Night's Watch?"

Gendry visibly tensed beside her. "I was an apprentice at an armory. My master got sick of me, I guess. Threw me out and said if I wanted to eat I should join." He tried to sound like he didn't care, but she could hear the emotion underneath his words.

She felt guilty for bringing it up, so she tried to move on. "I've seen you carrying that bulls-head helm around. Did you make it?"

He relaxed a bit and a proud smile spread across his face. "Yes."

She smiled back, glad for the change of mood. "It's good."

"Thanks," he said, and she swore she saw him blush.

They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the fire and drinking their ale. Halfway through her second cup she started to feel a bit fuzzy and began to worry if Gendry started asking her questions again she might end up accidently revealing her identity. So, she told him she was tired and was going to bed. She picked a spot she liked near a tree and crawled beneath the furs. As soon as her head hit the ground, she fell into blissful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Yoren's loud yelling woke Arya from her slumber. She rubbed her eyes and stumbled up. Her eyes adjusted to the light, even if wasn't very bright. It was barely dawn, she noted with a frown.

"Everyone up! It's time to move," Yoren stopped to shove a sleeping form with his foot, "It's a long ways to the Wall!"

Gendry got up beside her. "How is he up so early, and shouting, too? Last night, I saw him drink more than any other man I've seen."

Where had he come from? She glanced down to see his blanket lying about a foot away from hers. Had he been sleeping next to her?  
She didn't have any time to think on it or reply to what he had said, as Yoren ordered them to help pack up their belongings.

* * *

All that week, Gendry was never more than a few feet away from Arya, and it irked her to no end. She could not figure out why he was following her, why every night he would lie beside her, or why he moved just a little closer to her when any other of the recruits were around her. The best she could come up with was that he didn't want Hot Pie or anyone else to bother her, but she didn't know why he cared so much.

For a moment, she thought he might suspect that she was Lord Stark's daughter. That would explain why he had asked her those questions that night. But if he did know, wouldn't she be in some gold cloak's hands by now? She wasn't so sure she would be. Her gut told her that she could trust Gendry, for whatever reason. Syrio always told her to trust her instincts.

Yoren's commands to make camp broke her from her thoughts.

"Arry, go find some wood for the fire," he said. She knew he had noticed she did not have a chance to sneak away to pee that day and was trying to give her an excuse. And she was grateful, but of course Gendry would not let her go off alone.

"I'll help," Gendry offered.

"I can handle finding some sticks," she told him as she left the road and started for the wooded area. He did not listen to her, as she expected. Arya could hear him trailing behind her, his feet noisily crushing leaves and twigs beneath him. He really was not one for stealth, she thought with a smile. But then she remembered was annoyed.

Tired of trying to find out his motive, and also frustrated because she needed to pee, she just decided to ask. "Why are always following me?"

"Obviously because you're a girl, and if you hadn't noticed, we are surrounded by thieves and rapers."

She froze in her tracks at the word "girl". He knew. Shit. Time to deny, deny, deny. She turned to face him.

"I am a boy!"

"No, you aren't," he said looking amused. "Do you think I'm as stupid as the others?"

"_I'm a boy_."

"Really?" he asked, clearly not believing her. "Okay then, take out your cock and take a piss."

"I-I don't need a piss." Actually, she really did.

He had her, and they both knew it. She didn't know what to say.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," he reassured. "But you can't hide it forever. They will find out." He hesitated for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to say what he wanted. "Why are you pretending to be a boy?"

Arya wanted to tell him. Sharing her secret would be such a load off her shoulders. She thought Gendry could be trusted, and he had been trying to protect her, not that she needed any protection.

"No one can know."

"No one will," he promised. "Not from me."

She bit her lip, and lifted her eyes to search his, and could not find anything besides honesty. She had decided. "I am Arya Stark."

The look upon Gendry's face was priceless. She would have laughed if they were in a different situation. "The Hand's daughter?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"He's not Hand, anymore," the sound of the blade slicing through his flesh and bone replayed in her head. She shook it away, "But yes, he is my father."

Confusion was etched into his face. "But why are you trying to join the Night's Watch?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not, stupid. Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell. The Lannisters are looking for me. They want me as a hostage."

Something dawned on him. "So, you're like, a proper lady, then?"

Would she ever hear the end of this "lady" business? "No-"

But he was not listening, and quickly interrupted her, "Look, about all that stuff I said about cocks and piss… I shouldn't have—"

"Stop!" She could not hear anymore. She had grown used to being treated as an equal by him and was not ready for that to end. "I am the same! Nothing has changed, nothing is different."

"As m'lady says," he mocked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Angry and annoyed, she pushed hard onto his chest, and with a satisfying thump he fell to the ground.

"Don't call me m'lady!" And with that she spun around and stomped away, leaving him laughing behind her, for the second time.

* * *

Arya had just set two buckets of water onto the ground when she heard a voice from behind her.

"Sweet boy, kind boy. Would this boy bring these men some water?"

She turned to see the man with half-red, half-white hair in the cage offering her a smile. Murderer, she reminded herself. She felt uneasy about giving him water, unsure if this was a trick.

"Give me us some water, boy, or I'll fuck you bloody. I will!" the no-nosed man vowed.

A twinge of her fear coursed through her. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_, Syrio's voice reminded her. She was about to unsheathe Needle when hands grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her away from the three men in the cage.

"Alright, alright. You can let go," she said while twisting out of this person grip. She spun around expecting to see Yoren, but instead she saw Gendry looking worriedly at her.

"You shouldn't mess with them."

"They're in cages."

"They're dangerous."

"And in cages," she repeated. "I can handle myself, Gendry." Her mind wandered to the stable boy's lifeless body, blood gushing from the gash the sword made. No, that she had made.

"How can you? You're tiny."

She grimaced at the word 'tiny", though she knew it was true. "I've been taught in the art of the Water Dance."

"Water Dance?"

"It's a style of sword fighting." She spotted two sticks that would work nicely for what she had in mind. She fetched them, and handed one to Gendry. "And I bet I could beat you."

He didn't move to take his "sword". "I can't."

Growing annoyed, and anxious to practice fighting again, she asked, "Why not?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You won't," she said confidently, hoping to ease his worry. She could see his reserve breaking and she offered him the stick once more. This time he took it.

She smiled widely and assumed the proper stance Syrio taught her. Knowing Gendry would not make the first move, she swung her stick towards his side, which he blocked. Not discouraged, she made another move, this time at his shoulder. He blocked this as well. Surprising her, Gendry made a hacking motion towards her hip, which she dodged easily to the side. Concentration was apparent on Gendry's face, now, telling her he was going to stop holding back.

His eyes drifted to her neck. Oh, wrong move. She saw it coming before he even raised his stick. She ducked the blow towards her neck, and slipped underneath his arm. Now behind him, she pressed her stick into his back and whispered, "Dead."

She was laughing when he spun around to face her. He was smiling, too. He had a nice smile, she mused. Her grey eyes drifted up to meet his blue, which she found staring intently at her, as if he was in a trance. A bizarre feeling she could not explain waved through her. It was strange, and terrible, but at the same time she found herself not wanting it to go away.

At the realization of how close they were standing, she went against every single thing her body was telling her and took a step back, dropping his gaze.

She raised her stick once more. "Again?"

Smiling easily, he teased, "As m'lady commands."

He broke the tension and for that she was grateful, but she could not help but smack him across the chest.

* * *

It was Arya and Gendry's turn to ride one of the wagons, much to their delight. They were enjoying letting their feet rest, but also each other's company. Arya had decided he was fun to hit and insult, and Gendry seemed to have fun provoking her into hitting and insulting him.

The wagon came to a sudden halt, the impact sending Arya flying for the edge. He grabbed her along her waist before she tumbled off.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Why are we stopping?"

"I think—"

He was interrupted by Yoren's shouts, which traveled all the way to them in the back. Was Yoren capable of talking without yelling?

"Alright, you sorry sons of whores! We're stopping at this inn, and if you want to wash up, this is your chance!"

Gendry jumped down from the wagon, and without a second look to Arya, started running towards the inn. She didn't blame him, her body was screaming for a bath, too, but she wasn't going to reveal she was a girl over it.

She started the walk towards the inn. It felt like she hadn't bathed in a year, but she knew that was an exaggeration. She remembered having one a day or so before she went into hiding in King's Landing. That had all felt so long ago.

She had made it to their pile of belongings that were strewn about the brown grass near the inn. No one was around, not even Yoren. Well, the three men in the cages were there. But the bald and nose-less two were asleep. The man who asked her for water was awake, though, and was watching her. It did not fail to make her skin crawl. Wanting to be as far away from the man as possible, she walked over by the woods and sat down, leaning against a tree.

It was peaceful here, she thought. It was quiet. The wind rustling the leaves reminded her of the Godswood back at Winterfell. If she closed her eyes, it would be as if she were there. She let her eyes drift shut, letting the thought of home give her comfort.

"Arya," Gendry's voice whispered.

She blinked, coming to her senses. He was kneeling in front of her, his black hair wet and disheveled. She must fallen asleep. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long," he said. "Most of the men just finished washing." He pulled out something from his pocket. Was that a bar of soap? "I have a surprise for you."

* * *

He had dragged her off into the woods with the promise of a lake nearby. Arya was practically jumping up and down at the prospect of a bath. Gendry laughed at her excitement.

As soon as the little body of water was in view, she ran to it, peeling off all of her clothes on the way, her only priority getting into the water. When she dived in, it was pure bliss. Everything was forgotten, the cool water was washing away all the dirt, all of the nightmare she had been living, and everything that was wrong with her life.

She broke the surface, and sighed contentedly. Gendry sat close to the edge, his back turned to her, waiting for any indication of one of the recruits approaching. Realizing she had been stripping in front of him, she turned red. She knew he probably turned away when he saw what she was doing, but it did not help her embarrassment.

Arya made herself speak. "Can I have the soap?'

"Er, how?

"You can't see me underneath the water." She swam toward him as he turned to face her. He outstretched his arm, offering the soap, which she accepted gladly.

She rubbed the soap all along her body, but the most gratifying was cleaning her hair. Her soapy hands ran through the knotted, uneven mess that was her hair. Yoren really had done a number on it, she thought as she rinsed it out.

"I wish I didn't have to get out," she admitted, glumly.

"I know, but it's getting dark. We need to go back."

He was right, and she knew it. She nodded in agreement.

After Gendry gathered her clothes that had been spread about when she had been in a rush to get to the lake, he turned around once more to allow her to dress. She inwardly groaned at having to wear her bindings again after feeling so free just moments before. And she was not happy to put on her other clothes either, for they felt extra grimy against her now clean skin.

They began to head back to the camp, walking quietly side-by-side.

Arya broke the silence. "Thank you, by the way. I really needed that."

"Anytime," he grinned.

When they reached a point where they could see their camp they were surprised to see gold cloak's surrounding Yoren. No, no, she thought, this cannot be happening. She immediately tugged Gendry down with her to hide behind an abnormally large bush.

"We're here for a bastard called Gendry," one officer said. "Carries a bulls-head helm."

_What? _She glanced to her left to see Gendry looking just as confused as she was.


	2. Not Today

**AN: So, here is the second chapter. Thanks to everyone who followed/reviewed/favorited! I would appreciate it if you kept it up! Anyways, I have lots of good Gendrya stuff planned for the next chapter... I hope to have it up early next week!  
**

The gold cloaks had left when Yoren had put a knife against one of the men's throat whilst reminding him how outnumbered they were. But before leaving they promised they would be back, and with more men.

Confident they were safe for the time being, they would stay the night at the inn like planned. Well, outside of the inn, really, as they didn't have any money to waste.

Arya was exhausted, but sleep refused to come. The day's events were running through her head. Why were they after him? Arya craned her neck to the right to face the man in question. He was not asleep either, but instead staring up at the sky.

By the look on his face when the gold cloak's said his name, she did not think he knew why they were after him, but she felt she had to ask anyways.

"Gendry?"

He turned to look at her. "Hmm?"

"Why are they after you?" she asked softly.

"I wish I knew. Arya, I-" he trailed off.

"What?

"It's nothing. Nevermind."

She wanted to argue, but she was just too tired. Her eyes fluttered shut.

She was taking slow tentative steps through the dark crypts at Winterfell, her only source of light were the blazing torches that hung along the walls. Her nerves were frayed, fright accumulating with every step she took. She knew something terrible was waiting for her down here.

Arya approached her father's tomb, his statue looking sad as he stared down at his daughter. She reached out to touch his face when large hands grabbed her from behind. She struggled but her assailant only held her closer. When the knife came to her neck, she stopped trying to escape. He roughly turned them to the left.

Blood was everywhere. It was a massacre, limbs and guts spread about. At first she couldn't make out the faces, but then she saw. Her father, his head rolled off a little ways away from his body, lay dead on the floor. Bran and little Rickon were piled atop of each other, their throats torn out. And Sansa, beautiful Sansa, was barely recognizable and completely torn apart. Jon and Robb lay side-by-side, sharing a pool of blood. And in the center of it all, a massive lion was feasting on her mother's corpse.

"No," she whispered, the tears pooling in her eyes. She tried to turn her head away, but the man behind her forced her to look. "No, no," she repeated.

The lion raised his head from its prey and stared at Arya. She felt a shove and she was free from his grasp. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to see who had grabbed her, and saw Ser Illyn Payne smiling menacingly.

She turned her attention back at the lion, feeling completely helpless. She was going to die, she realized, and there was nothing she could do. The lion started sprinting towards her and…..

She woke. Gendry was hovering over her, concerned. He must have woken her.

"Are you okay?"

She took a deep breath, realizing she wasn't breathing. Tears were falling freely from her cheeks. Embarrassed, she wiped them angrily away.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just a stupid dream."

Gendry looked like he didn't want to let it go, but he laid back down beside her anyways. Arya shifted on the ground, attempting to get comfortable. The image of her murdered family refused to be pushed to the back of her head. She tried to calm her slightly erratic breathing. It was only a dream, Arya, she told herself, calm down.

"Tell me about your family."

Gendry's whisper surprised her. Where would she start? "Well, Rickon is the youngest, and completely reckless, but a great partner in crime. Bran has somehow managed to be smarter than all of us. He loved to climb the castle's walls, he never falls," she said proudly, but then she remembered. It was so easy to forget. "Well, I guess that's not true anymore. Sansa… Sansa and I cannot stay in the same room together without arguing. The only thing we have in common is a shared love of lemon cakes. But I wish I could be with her now… Robb." She wasn't sure what to say about Robb, but then it came to her, "Robb will make my father proud. And Jon is the one who humored me the most when it came to my unladylike tendencies. I didn't lie when I said he gave me Needle. If my mother finds out about my lessons with Syrio, no doubt she will blame Jon. She's always blaming Jon. I think that's why he left for the Wall." You will leave me for the Wall, too, she added silently to herself. Her father was the only one she had not yet mentioned. "The Lannisters are lying, you know? About my father, I mean. He is the most honorable man I will ever know."

"Arya, I-I have to tell you something."

She turned onto her side to face him, taking in his frazzled state. "Okay."

"Back when I was an apprentice, Lord Stark came to see me."

"My father?" she barely whispered, her vision blurring from tears threatening to spill.

"Yes, and Jon Arryn a while before him." Her tears were forgotten. Strange, she thought, that both of them are now dead.

"Well, what did they say?"

"You're father asked me if I was being treated well, tried to buy my bulls helm, and…asked me about my mother," he paused. "Jon Arryn asked about my mother, too."

"What did you say?"

"The truth." As he continued she could hear the hidden sadness hidden beneath his words, "I said I didn't remember much, that she had died when I was young, and that she had yellow hair."  
She had learned he was a bastard from the gold cloak, but she hadn't known his mother had died. She had figured something had happened, as he would not have left King's Landing if there was something left for him there.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing it would not help, knowing it would not bring his mother back, but she wanted to say it anyway.

He nodded his thanks. "I'm sorry, too, about your father."

She nodded back. "Is your father alive?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't even know who my father is," he said with an edge, but she knew it was directed to the man and not her.

She nodded again, not knowing what to say to that. "So, do you think this has something to do with the gold cloaks being after you?"

"That's what I was thinking."

* * *

Arya and Gendry were on edge. Every recruit catching them by surprise, every rabbit in the bushes, every gust of wind rattling the leaves was a potential gold cloak. It had led to her habit of biting her nails to return, and she could almost hear her lady mother scolding her.

Yoren had decided to stay off the main road to avoid any more contact with the gold cloaks, and the rest of the men had agreed. Gendry had been taken aback by the rest of the recruits refusing to turn him in and their lack of complaint in making their already slow journey even slower.

But some of the men had started treating like he was someone special, which she noticed made Gendry uncomfortable.

"I got it," she heard Gendry tell Lommy, who was trying to take the pail of water from his hands. "It's not too heavy, really." She could hear the annoyance under his words, which Lommy did not seem to detect. Then another boy, whose name she could not quite remember, came running up and tried to help Gendry with the water, and started chatting endlessly about something she could not hear from afar.

He looked trapped.

She walked up to the group and turned her attention to Lommy and the nameless boy. "Yoren wants you two to help Koss and Kurz with the hunting."

"Why? We don't know how to-"

"I don't know. Go ask him yourself if you want." She knew they wouldn't. They were too afraid of being yelled at by Yoren.

As expected, they started heading off to find the ex-poachers.

Gendry instantly relaxed as they left. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Of course," she said. "And I would be honored to help with the water, if it pleases your grace?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I have it, _m'lady_."

Arya glared at him half-heartedly, which only made Gendry laugh. She could not help but join in.

For a moment, they almost forgot their anxiety.

* * *

The town they found was completely deserted. Yoren, hoping to cross over to Harrentown, had assigned the recruits to search for a boat. She had been paired with Lommy, and Gendry looked reluctant to let her go off alone with him, but she assured him she would be fine. She rolled her eyes as soon as her back was to him. Silly bull, she thought.

She was right, of course. She was fine. All Lommy did was ask her questions about Gendry, which she couldn't answer even if she wanted, as Lommy would finish a question with another question. It was annoying, and she barely got through it without sticking him with Needle's pointy end.

In the end, no one could find a boat.

"We could build a raft," Gendry suggested.

Yoren seemed to consider that seriously. "Maybe," he nodded. "I'll sleep on it."

So, they barred the gates and made camp. Yoren sent Tarber, Kurz, and Cutjack to the towerhouse to keep watch while everyone else went to sleep.

Gendry was passed out beside her, his chest gently rising and falling in sync with his steady breathing. He looked peaceful, she thought. That soft, strange fluttering in her gut was back. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was reaching out to brush his disheveled hair out of his face. She froze when he let out a soft snore, but then he shifted on to his side, never waking from his slumber. What was wrong with her? She got up and headed towards the fire. She saw Yoren was there, sitting with a flask in hand. Of course, she thought.

She sat beside him.

"Can't sleep?" he said, passing her the flask. She hesitated, but then took a small sip, wanting to forget whatever was happening to her when it came to Gendry. The taste led her to shake her head and make a face, which apparently was very funny, as Yoren began to laugh.

She handed the flask back to him. "That tastes terrible!"

"Well, to be honest you don't really drink it for the taste," he said with another laugh. "So, where is the boy? Strange to see you without him nipping at your heels like a puppy."

She glared at him. "Gendry does not follow me like a puppy. He's my friend."

"Okay, okay," he surrendered. He suddenly got somber, his voice sympathetic. "You and him, aren't—you know—"

"NO!"

"Shhhh. Alright, alright. You're going to wake everyone."

"Sorry," she mumbled, her face still red from embarrassment.

"I know you told him who you are. And I've seen the way you two are around each other. I'm surprised the others haven't caught on... But you know Gendry's lowborn, and a bastard—"

"I don't care that he's—"

He ignored her and kept going. "And, he's joining the Night's Watch. Friend or more, there's no way this can work out."

Despite knowing all of this already, Arya's heart sunk. "I-"

The sound of Kurz's hunting horn interrupted her. Someone was coming. It was the gold cloaks, she knew it. _Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ Syrio told her.

Yoren turned to her. "Go wake Gendry. If this goes wrong, you two gather up who you can and _run_."

* * *

And it did go terribly wrong. The sound of steel clashing with steel was all around her. Arya was currently engaged in a fight with two gold cloaks, her mind replaying everything Syrio ever taught her.  
_Stand sideways, smaller target_. She hacked at the first man's hip, which he blocked.

The second man's sword was slicing air way too close to her neck for comfort. _What do we say to the God of Death?_

Not today.

She ducked a blow from the first man and dug her sword into gut. Blind with anger, the second man clumsily tried to stab her in the heart, which she easily dodged by stepping to the side. Now on his left side, she stuck the pointy end deep into his neck.

To her right, Hot Pie was clearly losing against his own opponent. The gold cloak was about to finish him off when she buried Needle into his back, sliding all the way through him. Hot Pie looked stunned as the body fell to the ground to reveal her standing behind it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but she didn't have time.

She spun in a circle, searching for Gendry. Panic rose within her. He had been at her side before the two gold cloaks had ganged up on her, but she lost track of him sometime during the fight. Where are you, Gendry? Smoke clouded her vision, she realized some of the buildings were on fire. When had that happened?

She did not spot Gendry, but instead Yoren looking at her, mouthing "go", just before a sword poked through his neck.

She felt like crying, to collapse and mourn the man who had saved her, but instead she made herself follow his last order.

She turned back to Hot Pie. "The battle's lost! Round up who you can and run!" Not waiting for his reply, she turned and ran to find her friend.

Arya was running through the town, trying to push back the screams of men and animals alike being burned alive. She spun around in a circle again, and this time spotting the tall form she knew to belong to Gendry. He was backed against a tree, his sword on the ground just out of his reach, and a gold cloak's blade poised to strike.

She ran faster than she thought possible. _Not today. Not today. He will not die today. _She pounced on the back of Gendry's attacker, and hastily sliced her sword along his neck. She fell with him as he came to his knees, making a sick choking noise as he drowned in his own blood.

She looked up to see Gendry looking dumbfounded and unable to find his words. She stood up from the body underneath her, and grabbed Gendry's hand and pulled him roughly with her towards the woods.

"Come on," she said, as they began run.

As they fled, they came upon the three men in the cage, which was catching fire. She instinctively came to a halt. Gendry tried to pull her away, but she would not budge. The bald one was too busy desperately throwing himself against the bars to see her, but the half-redhead noticed her presence.

"Sweet boy, please, help us," he begged. "Please, kind boy, please…"

"Keep going," she told Gendry as she spotted an axe sitting on a tree stump. She made her way back to it and threw it into the cage.

She could hear it hacking against the bars as she ran back in Gendry's direction. He was still there, waiting for her, stupid bull.

She rejoined him and started for the woods once more.

They entered the wooded area, swatting branches and such away as they moved. Arya was relieved they had the trees to conceal them, but she knew they were far from safe. They had to keep going.  
Just then a gold cloak popped out behind a tree. "Stop," he commanded, his sword pointing towards them. She was about to meet his blade with Needle but stopped when she felt something, a sword she presumed, pressing into her back.

"Drop your weapons or die," the man behind her threatened. "Your choice." How had he snuck up on them?

She looked to her right to see Gendry at sword point as well. She ground her teeth as she let Needle drop to the ground.

The walk back to their camp drained her, though it wasn't really that long. It was most likely the battle catching up to her.

They arrived at a small area that had not been affected by the fire, where the few survivors were lined up side-by –side, except for Lommy who lay groaning in pain on the grass. She spotted Hot Pie and the men that had been in the towerhouse, but that was all who was left. She wondered if anyone had gotten away, but all of the bodies she had passed on her way here told her that they probably did not. She hadn't seen the bodies of the three men in the cages, though. The three gold cloaks shoved her and Gendry in line with the rest of the recruits.

"Help me, please," Lommy cried out. "My leg, its hurt…"

A gold cloak knelt over him. "Can you walk, boy?"

"No, you'll have to carry me."

The gold cloak paused, and then gave his hand to help him up. Lommy accepted his hand, and sat up, right into the man's waiting sword. His eyes went wide, blood dripping out of his mouth. His blank stare told Arya he was dead.

Arya turned her gaze from Lommy to see none other than Gregor Clegane standing in front of them. He couldn't recognize her, could he? They had never spoke, but still...

"Which one of you is Gendry?" the Mountain asked them.

No one spoke up.

"Tell me, or you all die."

That's when she had an idea.

"You want Gendry?"

She could practically feel the complete and utter betrayal waving off of her friend. Just wait, she wanted to tell him.

"You got him," she said looking over at Lommy, where a bulls-head helm lay a few feet away. "He loved that helm."

* * *

The blood still stained her hands from when she had cut Gendry's almost killer's throat. He sat on her right. She saw that one of his hands was stained red as well from when she had dragged him off to the woods. Arya guessed letting his prisoners wash up was not Gregor's first priority.

The Mountain had bounded their hands with rope, and made them walk beside them while they sat upon their horses. She had no idea where they were headed.

When it finally got dark, the gold cloaks made camp and tied the survivors to a wagon. They weren't too far from the fire, so at least they would not freeze to death without blankets, but they had not given them any water or food as of yet. Her throat was already dry and her stomach growling.

"Arry?"

She turned to her left to see Hot Pie near tears.

"I'm sorry I threatened you that first day… And I-I wanted to say thanks for saving me… I would have died without-" but he was cut off by his own sobbing.

Well, she had not expected that. "Err, it's okay."

"Thank you," he said again, between sobs.

He did not stop crying until he fell asleep. She felt guilty for feeling annoyed, she knew he was close to Lommy and they weren't exactly in the best position at the moment.

A little while later, a gold cloak sat down a mug of water in front of every man's feet, even those who were already asleep. Her pride would not let her drink hers until he left, but as soon as he was out of sight, she gulped it down quickly, and ended up wishing she had savored it. Gendry did not drink his, but instead struggled to rip off a piece of his shirt, the rope around his wrists giving him trouble. He eventually got it and then dipped it into the water.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't waste it."

He didn't listen to her though. His rough hands took hers, and with gentle strokes he began to wipe the blood away with the cool damp cloth. When there was finally no trace of red left, he raised his eyes to meet with hers. The intensity in his eyes caught her by surprise.

"Thank you for saving my life."

"You would do the same for me," she said without a hint of doubt.

"In a heartbeat."

* * *

Two days later, she finally learned where the The Mountain was taking them.

"Dragons."

Gendry came up beside Hot Pie. "Don't be stupid. All the dragons are dead."

"You're both right. The dragons are gone," Arya told them, looking over the burnt remains of Harrenhal, "but not before leaving their mark."

"What's that smell?" Hot Pie asked.

"Dead people," she answered easily.

She walked past them and started towards the castle.


	3. Two To Go

**AN: So, here's the next chapter. I think there will be one more chapter at Harrenhal after this one. I hope to have Chapter 4 up this weekend. Thanks to those who reviewed/favorited/followed... It's be cool if you kept that up.  
Now, onto the story...  
**  
They had arrived just in time to catch the show. Clegane's men kept their prisoners in a pen like sheep waiting for slaughter, herself now one of them. And every day one sheep was chosen.

There was a bucket tied to his chest, and a man was holding a torch it. She didn't understand what form of torture this was, but the screaming chilled Arya to the bone.

"I don't know! I don't!" Would this be her fate?

When the yelling finally ceased an elderly woman spoke, "That was my son." She left to the farthest corner of the pen and finished barely a whisper, "My last son."

"Does anyone ever live?" Gendry asked.

"No," some other boy spoke up. "One is picked every day. The Tickler asks the same questions, every time. Doesn't matter if they answer or no… They don't come back."

* * *

It was her first night in the pen, the sky dark and cloudy. It would rain soon, she thought. Arya was leaning against a wooden post she was sharing with Gendry, whose steady breathing told her he was asleep. She rubbed her wrist where the rope had chaffed her skin. At least they were of off, now.

How had this happened? Only days ago she was headed towards her family, only days ago she was safe, only days ago Yoren was alive….

The man who had died of torture consumed her thoughts; his screaming would not stop replaying over and over again. Is that how she would die? Is that how Gendry or Hot Pie would die? Is that how all of these people, some of them as young as Rickon, who have seen so much death and misery, will die?

She just wanted to be with her family. For Jon to muss her hair, for her mother to hold her, for Sansa to tease her, for Bran to sit with her in the Godswood, for Rickon to throw a tantrum and give her a headache, for Robb to carry her off to bed on their mother's order after doing something unladylike, laughing under his breath all the way to her chambers. How had she gotten to this place?

Her hand dug into the dirt, clutching desperately, trying to hold on.

It did not help, the sobs came anyways.

Everything she had bottled up came flowing out in tears. The yearning to be with her family, the guilt for killing the stable boy who had grabbed her but in truth would not have killed her, the grief she held for her father's death, and now Yoren's death, the anger and frustration for getting captured and Needle being taken away, the empathy she felt for the stranger who lost her sons, and the pure _fear_ and helplessness she felt in this godforsaken pen. It was all just too much.

She felt a hand envelope hers in the dirt, fingers threading through her own. She looked up to see Gendry watching her. He was not judging her, not even pity was evident on his face. All she saw was understanding.

She gave his hand a squeeze, and then rested her head on the post and closed her eyes, the tears no longer falling, and allowed herself to sleep.

* * *

Arya stood next to Gendry, along with many other prisoners, trying to look inconspicuous. But Hot Pie and another boy were standing in the front of the pen, bravely staring ahead.

"What are you doing? Get back here, you idiot," she whispered to Hot Pie with much haste.

"He never gets picked 'cause he stares right at him," Hot Pie said, referring to the boy beside him.

Arya was about to argue, and possibly drag him away, but could not as one of Gregor's men was approaching.

She immediately looked down, shifting a little more away from the man that who decided whether she died in the worst possible death she, for the time being, could think of.

"You."

She had to glance up to see if it was her. It wasn't. Instead it was Hot Pie's new friend. She let out a breath she did not she had been holding. She felt relieved, and for that she felt guilty. That boy was going to die, she thought.

They dragged him off, and tied him to the chair. A rat was dropped in a bucket, which was then strapped to his chest.

The Tickler sat, with a half-eaten apple in hand. "Where is the Brotherhood?"

"I don't know."

"Is there any gold hidden in the village? Silver, gems?"

"I don't know."

The Tickler nodded to one of the men, who proceeded to light a torch and heat the bucket.

"Is there more food?"

The boy's screams sounded much like yesterday's pick's screams. Did everyone sound like that? "I DON'T KNOW. PLEASE!"

"Where is Lord Beric?"

Lord Beric, Arya wondered internally, of House Dondarrion? What do they want with him?

The boy did not answer but only continued to scream. The Tickler put his hand up, signaling them to stop."

"How many men did Lord Beric have?"

"I don't know, please… I don't even know who he is," he panted.

The Tickler nodded once more, and the torch was back to the bucket. The screaming started again.

"Which of the village folk aided him?" The Tickler asked as he took a bite of his apple.

The boy was no longer talking. Arya was sure he couldn't. He was convulsing, like he was having a fit. But then he went still. Dead, she knew.

In the end, Arya thought, they do not care if you stare at them or not.

* * *

That night it rained. Poured would be more accurate, really. That combined with an unusually breezy night, it was unbearably cold. She was curled up on the muddy ground, her clothes soaked all the way through. She had her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. It was not working.

Winter is coming, she thought as she began to shiver.

This was embarrassing, she was of the North! She was built for the cold. Maybe she had spent too much time in the south…

Arya was seriously concerned that she might freeze to death. She could swear there was ice in her hair.

"Are you okay?" Gendry's voice asked her.

She tilted her head up to see him sitting up with his back against the wooden post. He did not look very bothered by the weather, which would have annoyed her but found she was too cold to care.

"I-I'm just a little c-cold," she managed to get out.

"Come here."

"Wh-" But he cut her off by pulling her up and into his side. She sighed contentedly into his chest, feeling a bit warmer with his arms around her. Her hand had a mind of its own and slipped underneath his shirt, seeking the heat that radiated from his bare skin. She ran her hand over his chest, trying to gather even more heat. She could feel him tense underneath her touch. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, she forced herself to stop her movements, and settled for pulling him closer.

Sleep fell upon her almost instantaneously.

* * *

"Up! Everyone up!"

Arya jumped up from Gendry, startled and half-asleep. It was still raining, she noted.

They joined the other just waking prisoners, trying to blend in. She saw Hot Pie was with them this time. "I said up!" Gregor's man commanded to the two forms in the corner. A young girl near Arya's age was kneeling over the seemingly sleeping old woman who she remembered from the first day. She was the one who had lost her last son.

The girl stood up, and Arya now saw the tears trailing down her cheeks. "She's dead! Because of you bastards!"

Arya flinched at the word "bastard", as it had become a habit from when people threw it around when referring to Jon.

The girl came charging towards the man, out for blood. She wished she could tell her to stop, that she was going to get herself killed, but if she did she would be going against her own advice. The man backhanded her across the cheek, the impact sending her to the ground. He picked her up and dragged her to the chair and strapped the rat containing bucket to her stomach.

The Tickler started his questioning.

"Where is the Brotherhood?"  
The girl didn't answer. Did she know something or had she shut down after the old woman's death?

"Is there any gold hidden in the village? Silver, gems?"

Something snapped within the girl. "Is that why you torture people? Why you let my grandmother freeze to death? Why you put the Riverlands to the torch? For gold?"  
That surprised The Tickler. He smirked, then nodded over to the man with the torch.

For once, he did not ask all of the questions, but only watched the girl slowly give in to death.

* * *

It was dawn, the raining having finally have stopped and the sun starting to come out. Arya had not slept very well the night before. Her back was turned to it, but she knew the old woman's corpse still lay in the corner of their pen. It bothered her that her kidnappers could not spare a moment of their ever so precious time to bury her, or even take her body away.

Gendry stirred in his sleep beneath her, mumbling something about a horseshoe. She wondered if in his dreams he was back at King's Landing, happily molding metal without a single worry about impending death. She hoped he was able to have some peace, if only for a moment.

Hot Pie had given them a very funny look last night when he saw her and Gendry huddle up together before falling asleep, but he hadn't said anything. She wondered if he came to the same conclusion Yoren had, even if he still thought her a boy.

It didn't matter what he thought, it was only for warmth anyways, right?

"Wake up!"

Already?

Now a routine, she, Hot Pie, and Gendry grouped together with the other prisoners, hoping not to be noticed.

"You."

She risked a look up. Her heart stopped. The man was pointing at Gendry.

They began to drag him away from her, she reached out to grab his hand, but he slipped right through her fingers.

_Not today. Not today._

She desperately looked around, trying to form some sort of plan.

The bucket was being strapped against him.

"Where is the Brotherhood?"

No, no, no, no.

"I don't know what that is."

The fiery torch came down to the bucket…

The gates opened, men on horses came riding in, red and gold cloaks flowing behind them. Arya had never been happier to see more Lannister men.  
The last to come through was a proud looking man with balding grey hair. He was in charge, she knew. Could he be…

"Lord Tywin," The Tickler greeted nervously. "We weren't expecting you for days."

"I see that," he said while dismounting his horse. "What are they doing in a pen?"

"Trying to get information, my lord."

"You think the smallfolk know about Dondarrion? It would make better use of them to put them to work." He looked to Gendry. "Do you have a trade, boy?"

"Smith, m'lord,"

He nodded. "We can always use one of those. Show him to the forge."

As Tywin walked past the pen, all of the prisoners got down and bowed around her.

"Get down, boy, or I'll beat you-."

"You will not, you idiot," Tywin told his sworn sword. "This one's a girl." He turned his attention back to her. "Why are you dressed as a boy?"

"Safer for travel, my lord."

"Smart," he praised. "Come along, I need a new cupbearer."

With a last look at Gendry, she trailed behind her enemy.

* * *

Arya shifted on her straw bed. She had been restless ever since Tywin took her as his cupbearer. She found herself missing Gendry's soft and steady breathing, and even his warm embrace, though she had only experienced it for two nights. She actually had a bed mate, but she did not care for her much. She hogged the covers and snored, _loudly_.

She had not seen Gendry since he almost died, as Tywin kept her busy. She thought the job of cupbearer would be pouring wine at meals, but instead she was running around all day delivering messages, fetching food, and other errands Tywin thought she was fit for.  
She had seen Hot Pie, who was placed in the kitchens, whenever Tywin got a craving for some sweet or other. He made a big fuss about her being a girl. Apparently, he now felt extra guilty about giving her a hard time that first day. She only rolled her eyes, and then asked if he had seen Gendry. He said he had when he brought breakfast to the forge one day, and he was fine and was asked the same thing about her.

She wondered if he missed her, too.

* * *

Arya sat on a towel that lay over the floor. A pail was set beside her. She dipped the sponge into the bucket, letting it absorb the water. It dripped as she took it out.

Not exactly a proper bath, she thought, but it was good enough.

She started at her ankle, running the sponge up along her calf and then all the way up to her thigh.

Sun began to stream through her small window. She would be needed at breakfast soon.

She hurried up with the other leg, and then her arms and chest. She did what she could for her back, but she could not reach it very well.

The girls who shared her room were rising from their slumber one by one.

"You better finish up, Nan," one said. She told them her name was Nymeria, but most of them took to shortening it to "Nan".

There was not enough time to wash her hair, so she quickly dressed in her freshly washed clothes. Arya had been happy they had not forced her into a dress, even if it was only because they did not want to waste any clothes on her. Also, now outted as a girl, she no longer had to wear the bindings she used to hide her breasts, which eased much of her discomfort.

She walked as swiftly as she could to the Great Hall, but once she arrived Tywin was not there.

Relieved, she helped the two people the kitchens sent up to set the table. She recognized one of them to be a boy from the pen, who seemed to know her too, as he gave her a small smile. She was about to return it when Tywin came bounding in.

"Girl," he said, referring to Arya. "I need you to deliver a message to Lucan in the smithy. These two can serve me breakfast."

To the smithy? This was one message she would be happy to deliver. She approached him to retrieve the letter he was holding out. "Yes, my lord. I'll do that right away."

Arya practically skipped all the way to the forge.

She opened the door to see the backs of two forms hovering over a longsword. The man on the left she assumed to be Lucan, and the other she instantly knew to be Gendry. Neither of them had heard her come in.

"I have a letter for Lucan from Lord Tywin."

She must have scared them as the sword came clattering to the floor. Both men turned around. Gendry beamed at her. That fluttery, unidentified feeling in her gut was back.

"Give it here, then," Lucan told her. She walked up to him and handed him the letter. Lucan opened it, and then started off to the back and disappeared behind a door. She thought he must be writing a reply.

As soon as he was gone, she thrust herself into her friend's arms, hugging him along his waist.

"You almost left me," she said into his chest.

She could feel his fingers combing through her hair. "I know." It was nice to hear his voice.

She pulled back a little to see his face. Arya was suddenly aware of how close he was. His gaze drifted down to her slightly parted lips. He began to lean in and…

They heard the door open, warning them Lucan was coming. They reluctantly stepped apart, putting what they thought was an appropriate amount of distance between them.

"Take this to Tywin," Lucan said, handing her a letter, obviously not sensing the tension in the room.

She nodded and then turned to leave.

What was she doing? What was happening to her? Did she… want him? No, no, she couldn't. This was Sansa's, or silly Jeyne Poole's territory. She didn't fawn over boys like her sister with her stupid crush on Ser Loras. She didn't want to be the fair maiden in all the famous love songs. That wasn't her.

* * *

Arya was still busy, but had much more free time as of late. It had her wondering if she wasn't very good at her job. She had only spilled the wine twice…

She spent what time she had with Gendry in forge, well until Lucan shooed her away claiming she was distracting.

Gendry had not mentioned their almost kiss, so Arya assumed they had a silent agreement to ignore it. Things had been fairly normal between them, which shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. But not even that was going to get to her today.

She headed towards the smithy with a lemon cake in hand that Hot Pie, after much coaxing, nicked for her from the kitchens.

Gendry looked up from the sword he was hammering when he heard her come in. Lucan was nowhere to be found. Good, she thought, he can't throw me out.

"Why are you so smiley, then?" Gendry asked.

"It's my nameday," she said as she sat on a nearby stool. "Or at least I think so. I can't really be sure." The dates were a little fuzzy. She had to admit she could easily be a week or so off.

"Really? And how old is m'lady turning?"

"Five-and-ten," she told him. "And stop with the m'lady-ing or I won't be so quick to share."

He now just noticed the treat she was unwrapping from a napkin. He lustily eyed the cake, and came forward on his own will or not.

She broke him off a piece, and placed it in his open palm. She took off a piece for herself, and popped it into her mouth, barely containing a moan. It had been so long since she had had one of these.

"They make surprisingly delicious lemon cakes for such a hellish place," Arya joked.

"Is it really _that _bad here?"

She rolled her eyes. Give a man some food and a bed and he'll forget all about how you were planning to let a rat claw through his insides.

"Yes, Gendry. A good way to tell is if you can't leave without someone trying to lop your head off, then you're probably not in the best situation."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he quickly snatched a rather generous bit of the lemon cake, cramming it into his mouth.

She shook her head in disapproval and smacked his shoulder.

"Ow," he smiled, his mouth full of cake. "What kind of lady beats her friends?"

"The bad kind."

* * *

Arya recognized the three men from the cage instantly. She had saved them, and now they were fighting for the Lannisters. The irony was not lost on her.

She didn't think they knew her. They hadn't even acknowledged her, only riding right past her.

"A boy becomes a girl."

The thick accented voice startled her, causing her to drop the bucket in her hands, water spilling everywhere. She turned around to see the red and white haired man from the cage.

"_You_," she seethed. "I should have let you burn."

He paid no mind to her anger. "A man has a name," he told her. "Jaqen H'gar. And what is a girl calling herself now?"

Panic replaced her anger. Did he know?

"A girl keeps secrets. It is not for a man to spoil them," he assured her. "Friends may speak in secret, yes?"

"Friends? You're one of them now."

"And you fetch water for one of _them_, now. Why is it right for you and wrong for me?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You did. I did. And here we are…"

He stepped forward, so she unconsciously stepped back.

"A man pays his debts. A man owes three."

"Three what?"

"The Red God takes what is his, lovely girl. And only death may pay for life," Jaqen explained. "You saved me, and the two I was with. You stole three deaths from the Red God. We have to give them back. Speak three names and a man will do the rest."

"I can name anyone? And you'll kill him?"

"A man has said."

Arya bit her lip. Could she really just sentence someone to their death, even someone so terrible? She thought of every scream, all sounding so similar in the end. She thought of the young girl who lost her grandmother, who was brave enough to talk back, but who died just like everyone else. She thought of the grotesque convulsing that always happened right before the end. She thought of Gendry with the bucket strapped to his chest… "The Tickler."

"Then it will be done. Go now, girl. Your master is thirsty."

* * *

Gendry swung the sword he just finished, hacking at an imaginary enemy. Arya brought the bread to her lips, taking a small nibble. She could not help but admire his shirtless form, her eyes taking in his strong arms, then wandering over each defined muscle, all the way down to the V-shape that led to-

"What?"

Her eyes shot up. He had caught her staring. A blush crept its way up onto her cheeks. Oh, gods, don't let him notice.

"You should stand sideways," she recovered, her voice muffled by the forgotten food in her mouth.

"Sideface?" he misunderstood.

She swallowed the food. "Sideways. Smaller target."

"Am I fighting someone?" he asked, looking at the empty space behind him to emphasize his point.

"No, you're practicing for a fight," Arya informed him. "You should practice right."

He began to smile just before a blood-curdling scream interrupted. They both raced off to find the source of the commotion.

A circle of on lookers, the screaming woman included, was blocking whatever was so horrifying. Arya pushed her way through the crowd to see the Tickler, lying on the ground, eyes lifeless and neck distorted.

"He must've fell," she heard Gendry tell her.

She looked up at the tall walls, and there was Jaqen H'gar, casually putting one finger across his cheek.

Two to go.


	4. Blue Winter Roses

**AN: So, this was less fluff and more about stuff that's happening. For my tv-only readers, Lyanna, who had a liking for blue winter roses, is Arya's aunt and are said to share a resemblance. And about the roses, I'm fairly certain these particular flowers only grow in Winterfell (and during the winter?) but whatever. The one of the many beauties of fanfiction is that you can change things like this.  
****Also, we are heading to spoiler land next chapter. I don't know if I should just not tell you and let you decide what's cannon and what isn't?  
****Thanks for those who followed/reviewed/favorited. It would be nice if you did more of that.**

Arya was going to kill Tywin Lannister. Or rather, she was going to have Jaqen kill him for her. It didn't really matter to her, because either way, he would be dead.

But she was waiting for the right moment. During her time as his cupbearer she had learned many things. The first thing being that there were five men currently calling themselves a king. One of them was her brother Robb, who has crowned himself King in the North. So, she had decided she would stay under Tywin's nose for a little while longer, and attempt to overhear as much information as possible.

This is what she knew so far. Robb was in the Riverlands fighting the Lannisters, and has not lost a battle yet. The Iron Islands were seceding from Westeros, making Balon Greyjoy the King of Rock and Salt. Both Baratheon brothers were claiming themselves to be the rightful king, but Renly recently had died, by his brother's hand or his sworn sword's, it was unsure. But he was dead, nevertheless.

"You gave the letter to our _enemy_?"

Ser Armory Lorch nodded. "I'm sorry, my lord," he admitted to Tywin as Arya poured him wine.

"Your apologies mean nothing when the wolf knows our plans. Can you not read, ser?"

Arya saw his jaw clench. "No, my lord."

Tywin didn't comment on that. "Girl, hand me _Maps of Westeros_." She headed towards the stack of old musty books, and picked the one he wanted. "It's big and has brown—" he stopped as she set the book down in front of him. "My cupbearer can read better than you," Tywin told his knight. "Maybe I should go over battle plans with her instead. You may go."

Armory Lorch gave her a death glare before he got up to leave. Great, she was now on the bad side of the man who liked to stab children.

"Sit, eat," Tywin said, gesturing to his untouched plate of food.

"You do not want to eat it, my lord?"

"Never much liked mutton."

Being the center of his attention was making her nervous. "I-I can eat in the kitchens."

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to refuse a lord?"

She was beat. She took the plate from him and sat down.

"Where are you from?"

"Maidenpool," she answered easily, enjoying her first taste of meat in what felt like too long.

"And who is the house seat of Maidenpool?"

Where was he going with this? "House Mooton, my lord." Her lessons were finally paying off, weren't they?

"And what is their sigil?"

Oh, spoke too soon. She should have studied harder like Maester Luwin had told her. "A, um…"

"You're from the North, aren't you?"

Arya forced herself to remain calm. "Barrowton, my lord. House Dustin. To crossed longaxes, beneath a black crown."

"M'lord." He saw her confusion and continued, "The lowborn say 'm'lord' not 'my lord'."

"My mother was a handmaiden to Lady Dustin for many years. She taught me how to speak proper- properly," she finished, catching herself.

"Did she also teach you to read?"

"No, my father did."

"What did he do?"

"He was a stonemason."

"I've never known a stonemason who could read."

She could not help the small smirk that pulled at the corner of her lips. "Have you met many stonemasons, my lord?"

"Careful, girl. I enjoy you, but be careful…" Tywin turned his back to her and looked out the window. "Where is your father, now?"  
"He's dead," she told him truthfully, her grip tightening on the knife. It would be so easy to sneak behind him and dig it deep into his back. He was a Lannister, an enemy. He wanted to kill her brother, she had heard it from his own mouth enough times.

She became distracted by a letter on the table. She could barely make out the words "Robb Stark" from the distance. She looked up to make sure Tywin was still not looking, and slowly outstretched her arm to grab the parchment. She carefully slipped it into her pocket.

* * *

Arya was walking out of the castle, unfolding the letter when she bumped into a large figure.

It was Armory Lorch. He snatched the paper right out of her hands. "What's this?"

"I—A letter for the smithy… I was delivering it." The knight began to look it over.

He couldn't tell the difference. He can't read. There wasn't a way he could prove she was lying.

"Let's go ask Tywin about it, then." He tried to grab her arm but she dodged him and began to run for it.

She had to get to Jaqen before he got to Tywin.

She pushed herself through crowds of fellow servants. Her eyes spotted a man dressed in mail with red shoulder length hair.

She went towards him, pulling his shoulder so he could face her. His confused face did not belong to Jaqen. She turned and continued her search.

She ran past the forge without a word, leaving a bewildered Gendry and Hot Pie behind to stare after her.

Arya saw Jaqen laughing with a group of gold cloaks, the other three men from the cage included, with a frothy liquid spilling from their mugs. She came up behind Jaqen and dragged him away from the group.

"Armory Lorch."

He nodded. "It will be done." He turned to rejoin his friends.

"Now! It has to be done right now!"

Jaqen gave her irritated look, but went off in the direction she had come anyway.

Hopefully he would get there in time. If he didn't… She didn't even want to think of that.

* * *

Arya crawled into bed that night very relieved. Jaqen had killed Armory Lorch with a poison dart just as he entered the room to tell Tywin. She had to be more careful, and no more stealing letters. She let a yawn and shifted to her side. Maybe she would sleep well for once…

She was back in the Godswood in King's Landing, practicing the different moves Syrio had taught her. In the back of her mind she knew she was dreaming, that she was only reliving a memory, but she welcomed a happier time.

Something caught her eye underneath a weirwood tree. She sheathed Needle and made her way to the little patch of blue winter roses. They are beautiful, she thought.

She gently pulled one from its roots and brought it to her nose. They smelled good, too. Arya slipped it through her hair and put it behind her ear.

The room suddenly changed around her and she was in the Red Keep, facing two large wooden doors. She knew she was supposed to be looking for her father. Was he in there?

The door suddenly opened and Robert Baratheon stood before her.

"I'm sorry, your grace. I—"

She was cut off by the strange look he was giving her. He was outright staring at her, mesmerized. In his trance, his hand came towards her and pulled the flower from her hair. He brought it closer to his face, the blue bringing out his eyes. Such familiar blue eyes...

He suddenly let the rose slip through his fingers and walked away without even acknowledging her.

Renly replaced Robert in the doorway. Varys and Littlefinger were sitting in the back of the room. Her father wasn't there.

"I don't understand."

"You look like her," Renly told her, the same familiar eyes staring down at her. Where did she know those eyes?

What was she supposed to say here, again? "Like who?"

"Lyanna," he finished.

"And you look like…" she trailed off. This was not what she supposed to say. This was not how this actually went.

"Like who?" Renly asked.

She was about to answer when a voice from above interrupted. "Nan, get up."

Arya looked up, trying to find the origin of the voice. "What's happening?"

"Better go back," Varys advised.

"Naaaaaaan," the voice said again, but this time she was back in her room in Harrenhal with her roommate hovering above her. "Gods, you're difficult to wake. You ought to be thanking me, or you might've overslept."

Arya got up from her bed, ignoring the girl, and started pacing. She knew, now.

Gendry was a Baratheon.

* * *

She was watching him work, again. But this time his half-nakedness was the farthest thing from her mind.

Arya was not entirely sure of who Gendry's father was. Renly, who she didn't think had even seen thirty namedays, was probably too young to be his father. Also, even if most pretended they did not know, Loras Tyrell and Renly clearly had eyes for each other. Arya remembered how she had barely contained her laughter at how very oblivious and smitten Sansa was when the Knight of Flowers gave her a rose at her father's tourney.

Arya had never met Stannis and didn't really know much about him. She had heard he was honorable, from her father mostly. Would he really let his child go unacknowledged?

And Robert. Robert was nothing like Gendry. He was loud, and obnoxious, almost always drunk, and was infamous for his whoring. But in all honesty, she did not know if Gendry had been with as many girls as Robert. The thought of him with someone else felt like a dagger through her heart. She pushed it away. He didn't belong to her, so why did she care?

She had to admit it made the most sense for him to be Robert's. It would explain why her father went to check on him, and why Joffrey wanted Gendry dead. He was trying to secure the throne by killing his own blood, the little shit.

Joffrey being related to Gendry, brother or cousin, was unsettling to her. They were nothing alike, she knew. But how could the person who had kept her warm in his arms and held her hand when she cried and that vile excuse of a human being have the same blood flowing through their veins?

And if Robert was his father, then he was dead. Both of his parents would be dead…

"What?"

He had caught her staring once again, albeit in a different way. She knew she had to tell him.

"I have to tell you something."

He looked concerned at the seriousness in her tone. "Okay."

"I-" she trailed off. She couldn't do it. "I am behind The Tickler's death. And Armory Lorch's, as well," she said instead.

What proof did she have, anyways? What, that they had similar colorings and her father and Jon Arryn came to see him?

He scratched his head, trying to absorb what she had told him. "But you were with me when the Tickler fell…"

"I'm not doing the actual killing myself. You've seen Jaqen around, right? The Night's Watch recruit with the accent who was from the cage?"

"He's doing it for you?"

"Yes."

"Why? Because you saved his life?"

"Kind of. He says I stole three deaths from the Red God. Meaning him and the two others in the cage. And we have to give them back, apparently."

"So, you just tell him to kill someone and he does it without question?"

She nodded.

"Arya..." he started. "Maybe you should stay away from him. Yoren put him in that cage for a reason."

"I know," she admits. "But I really don't think he wants to hurt me."

He clearly wants to argue, but instead he just swings his hammer down to his sword. Was he angry with her?

He does this a few more times, staying quiet, until suddenly stopping to meet her eyes. "Do you ever feel bad?"

"About what?" Not telling you who I think your father is, she asks herself silently. Then, yes.

"About killing people."

"No," she answered easily. "They all wanted to hurt me or someone I care about." The stable boy lying in his own pool of blood floated through her mind. Her eyes drifted to the floor as she spoke. "Well… there is one. In King's Landing, on the day they arrested my father. The Queen had ordered for me to be brought to her. A boy from the stables, maybe about my age, thought he might get a reward and tried to grab me. I was afraid, so I… stuck him with the pointy end. I could have injured him so he couldn't come after me. I didn't have to kill him." She looked up at Gendry. "Do you ever feel bad?"

"I've only killed one, at the battle in the abandoned town. Sometimes, I wonder if he had a family. If he had a wife, or a baby who will have to grow up without a father," he paused, and looked down in a fit of shame. "I feel bad about them."

Arya was no longer bothered by whose blood ran through Gendry's veins. It didn't matter.

He was nothing like Joffrey.

* * *

"And Pia, from the buttery, you know Pia?"

The boy, who she had earlier recognized from the pen and had recently learned was named Jared, had not stopped talking to her about all the gossip that was circulating through Harrenhal. He was always nice to her, but to be honest she just wasn't interested. "Umm, yes. We're sharing a room."

"Really? Do you know if she's with child? Lana says she is. She's been making her way through every knight in the castle. I wonder whose it is."

"I don't know. She hogs the covers if that helps."

He laughed as he handed her a dish he had just washed for her to dry. "No, but you have to tell me if you find anything out."

"Okay," she agreed, fully intending not to tell him anything if she did in fact find anything out.

He casually glanced behind each of his shoulders and then leaned in closer to her ear, his voice getting low. "And I saved the best for last. Stannis Baratheon has sent out letters to every House, claiming that Joffrey is a result of incest between the Queen and her brother. Did you know that every Baratheon as far as you can trace it back has had black hair? And Joffrey is as golden as any Lannister."

Arya wasn't one to believe everything she heard. Stannis probably hadn't even sent these letters. But it made some sense. Every Baratheon she knew had black hair, even Gendry. And her father had said Joffrey had no claim to the throne. Is this why? Had he figured it out?

* * *

Tywin was leaving, _now._ And once again, she was running to find Jaqen. If she was going to name him, then she had to do it now.

"Have you seen Jaqen?" she frantically asked her two friends as she approached the forge.

"Ary-Arry, you should—"

"Stay away from him, I know!" she finished for Gendry. "Have you seen him?"

"I haven't."

"What do you want with him, anyway?" Hot Pie asked.

"He's helping me. Did you see him?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" He only shrugged, so she ran over to him, and gripped his ears. "Where? _Where?_ Tell me."

"Owwwww, okay, okay, I saw him leave a while ago. Let go."

She released him at the sound of gates opening and the clatter of hooves.

Her chance was gone as Tywin disappeared through the gates.

* * *

Arya was not enjoying her time as cupbearer to Gregor Clegane, who Tywin had left in command. She did not enjoy fetching him wine in the middle of the night. She did not enjoy watching him hit Jared on almost a daily basis. She did not enjoy listening to him boast about the kitchen maid, and so many others, that he had raped with his toadies. And she did not enjoy his threats to do the same to her.

"More wine," Gregor ordered her.

She came up behind him to fill his cup and tripped on a loose floorboard on the way. She kept herself from falling by grabbing the edge of the table, but the wine had spilled all over Gregor's lap.

He roared and jumped up from his chair, and backhanded Arya across her cheek. She gasped at the blazing pain.

Her hand instinctively reached up to touch where he had hit her. She met Gregor's eyes, fury rising within in her. She glanced to the table and noticed the knife lying across his plate of food. Her fingers began to reach towards it.

"You know," said Gregor, tilting his head. "If you cleaned the dirt off, you might actually be pretty."

Her eyes shot back to Gregor, who was slowing inching closer to her.

Not today, she thought as she finally felt the tip of knife in between her fingers.

The door opened and in came a gold cloak she hadn't seen before. She quickly released the knife before he could notice.

"News from Lord Tywin."

Gregor nodded and turned to Arya "Leave us, girl."

* * *

As Arya left the tower, distracted by the fact that the entire left side of her face was on fire, she bumped right into a gold cloak.

Was she in for another slap? "I'm sorry," she started, but looked up to see Jaqen. "Where've you been? I thought you left."

"I did, on patrol. But I am back. Does a girl have her last name?"

She was tempted to name Gregor, but Tywin was more important in regards of the war.

"How long does it take for you to kill someone?"

"Minutes, days, months…" he said as he sat down on a nearby barrel. "Death is certain but time is not."

So there wasn't a guarantee that he could kill Tywin before the war was over or before he killed her brother….

"Help me get out of here instead."

"This a man cannot do. It would cost more lives than the one you owe. There must be another, someone else."

A crazy idea floated into her mind. It could not work, could it? "I can name anyone?"

"A man has said."

She smiled at that, and then leaned in close to his ear and named, "Jaqen H'gar."

"You should not mock the gods."

"I'm not," she told him. "A man can go kill himself."

"Take it back."

She paused to keep him on his toes a little while longer. "I'll unname you," she told him and watched him relax too soon. "_If_ you help me and my friends escape."

"A man cannot—"

'Fine. Jaqen H'gar," she repeated.

He stood up, his anger growing by the second. "If I do this thing, a girl must obey."

"A girl will obey."

He nodded. "At midnight, a girl and her friends will walk through the gates."

* * *

She tiptoed into the forge and slipped behind the door in the back. She carefully stepped over scattered clothes along the floor, passed a sleeping Lucan, and came to the small bed in the far corner.  
Underneath a white sheet Gendry lay on his back, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. The sheets were low on his hips and on an angle, revealing some of his bare side and thigh, causing her throat to go dry. Ah, she didn't have time for this!

She reached out to touch his shoulder and his panicked eyes shot open at the touch. When he saw it was her, he relaxed and started to ask her something, but she quickly silenced him by putting a finger to her lips and pointing over to Lucan on the other side of the room.

She bent down to pick up his clothes that lay on the floor and placed them on his bed, and then motioned towards the door before leaving.

A minute later he joined her outside the smithy.

"What happened?" was the first thing he asked, his voice solemn while his fingers hovered over the bruise she knew was forming on her cheek.

"It's nothing," she whispered, afraid that someone might hear them. "I need you to go wake Hot Pie and get him to gather what food he can. Then meet me at the gates."

"Why? What's going on?"

"We're leaving."

* * *

She hid behind a wagon, watching the guards. They hadn't moved at all. They're like statues, she thought.

Arya heard loud footsteps behind her that could only belong to one person in all of the realm.

"Try not to be so loud, will you?"

Gendry appeared on her left, ducking behind the wagon.

"Where's Hot Pie?"

He hesitated. "He's staying."

Arya didn't even like Hot Pie that much, but regardless it stung.

"Arya…"

"It's fine, if he's too much of a coward to come, that's fine. Was he too afraid to get us food, too?"

"No, he gave us what he could."

Arya turned her attention back to the guards.

"What are we supposed to do about them?" Gendry asked.

"I don't know. Jaqen said to just walk through the gates at midnight."

"Well, they aren't exactly going to just let us pass."

A girl must obey, she remembered.

She stood up and offered out her hand. "Do you trust me?"

He took it, threading his fingers with hers. "Yes."

As they got closer to the guards, Arya could see the blood that dripped from the guards' necks and down the high stone walls. They were not statues, but dead people.

And together, they walked through the gates and out of Harrenhal at midnight.


	5. Ours is the Fury

**AN: The new season is less than a week away! Can you believe it? I'll try to have the new chapter up before then, but a lot is going on this week, so no promises.  
I also got a lot more reviews than usual on the last chapter, which was pretty awesome.**

Thank you to all, but a special thanks to Veridissima for reviewing every chapter so far.

Also, I'd like to reply to one particular reviewer.  
PottedLilies: First off, thank you for commenting on things that are actually going on and giving me your opinion! I did feel like I had to include what was going on, and I know it must feel repetitive to read everything all over again. This chapter strays a bit more from the original near the end, so I hope that keeps you reading! I plan for the next couple chapters to be more Gendry/Arya focused. And then it's going to go in a completely different direction than the original story. As for your question about a Gendry point of view, there will be at least one, maybe more if that goes well. Thanks, again!  


Arya knew they had to keep going, but her body was begging for sleep. They had been walking all night and the sun was finally beginning to set again. The new found darkness caused her eyes to drift shut against her will…

"Hey," she heard Gendry tell her, his arms around her being the only thing that kept her from falling. "We need to stop. This is the second time you've fallen asleep."

"But we're on foot, and they have horses. If they come after us-"

"We have a good head start, and we've covered our tracks well enough. You need sleep. I do, too. Soon I won't be awake to keep you from falling over."

She nodded, exhaustion winning out over her anxiety. She practically dropped to the ground where she stood, curling up on her side. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of Gendry pulling her back into his chest, for warmth or comfort she did not know anymore.

* * *

The funky taste of the cheese she nibbled told her it was already getting old. Soon, she knew, it would start to grow moldy.

They were going to run out of food. In a week, or maybe a little longer if they ate even less. And the water was going even quicker. She needed to find the Trident, for water and for guidance. If she could find it, all they had to do was follow it all the way to Riverrun. To her brother.

But for food… she didn't know.

Gendry was still asleep, leaning against a tree. His cheeks were hollow, reminding her of when they were captured by Gregor. Did she look so hungry, too?

A twig snapped behind her. She spun around to find Jaqen H'gar step into the clearing. How had he found them?

Careful not to wake Gendry, she walked into the wooded area with Jaqen at her heels. She stopped when she thought she was far enough to not disturb her friend's sleep but close enough to see if trouble arose.

He spoke first. "A man has kept his word, and now a girl must keep hers."

She nodded. "I take back the name Jaqen H'gar." She wondered if the guards would be able to find her so easily. "How did you find me?"

"Is that really what you want to know?"

"How did you kill all of those guards? None of them even sounded the horn."

"It is no harder than taking a new name, if you know how."

"Show me."

"If a girl wishes to know, she must come with me across the Narrow Sea and to Braavos."

"I can't just leave him," she says while looking at Gendry. "And my family..."

"Then this is where we part, lovely girl," he tells her, pulling out an iron coin and placing it into her hand. "If you change your mind, give this to any man from Braavos and say to them 'Valar Morghulis'. Say it."

"Valar Morghulis."

He turned to walk away.

She bit her lip. She had become strangely attached to this man. "Don't leave, Jaqen."

He looked back at her. "Jaqen H'gar is dead." Arya was about to express her confusion, but he interrupted her. "Say the words, again."

"Valar Morghulis," she repeated.

"Good." He bowed his head, hiding his face from her. She gasped as he looked back up.

His face had completely changed.

"Goodbye, lovely girl," his new voice said.

All she could do was watch him walk away. A Faceless Man.

Old Nan used to tell her stories of these assassins who could change their faces, but she did not think they could actually do it.

"Arya!"

Gendry, she thought. She ran back to the small clearing, panicking that Gregor had got to him.

"What's happening? Did they—"

She was cut off by almost being knocked over by Gendry's embrace.

"Can't- breathe," she managed to get out.

As he let go she took in welcoming gulps of air. "What the hell were you thinking? Running off without telling me?"

She felt guilty at the distress in his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you. I was with Jaqen."

"Jaqen?"

"I had to unname him."

He sat back down by the tree. "You really scared me, Arya. When you were gone when I woke up, I thought…"

She sat beside him. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Did Gregor do that?"

Do what? Then she remembered the slight sting of pain she still felt along her cheek. She nods. "Is the bruise bad?"

"It—it isn't terrible."

She let out a small chuckle. "You're a bad liar."  
He smiled, but as soon as it came it disappeared. "I heard some things… about him and some of the girls around the castle. He didn't…"

"No, not to me. You've heard the story of the Sack of King's Landing, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what Gregor is capable of, and why the further away we are from him, the better."

* * *

The garden they came across in sheer luck was plentiful in carrots, tomatoes, and even onions, though she was not looking forward to eating those raw.

Arya felt guilty as she helped Gendry gather the vegetables in their small bag, but what they had left was so little, and she knew they would not make it to Riverrun without more food. She would give them some coin, later, when she actually had coin to give.

"_I loved a maid as white as winter_…"

She froze at the sound of singing. She dropped the carrot in her hands and roughly pushed Gendry with her to hide behind some bushes.

"_With moonglow in her hair…_"

She tried to keep her breathing calm as she heard hooves approach, the voice was getting louder and louder with every clomp.

The singing stopped and so did the horses. She counted how many she heard dismount. One. Two. Three. Four?

"Hello," an older man with thinning brown hair said from above, bending over the bushes to see them on the other side. "Who do we have here?"

He wasn't dressed in mail, nor did he wear a cloak of any color. An outlaw?

She gulped as she stood up and joined the rest of his group. There were six. They were completely outnumbered, and with no weapons to speak of.

"I am… Jeyne," Arya told them, thinking of her sister's friend. "And this is, er-"

"They call me the Bull," Gendry finished for her.

"We've told you who we are, now you."

"I am Tom of Sevenstreams," the man who found them spoke.

The one with the brown bushy beard introduced himself next as Lem. The redhead followed with his name, Anguy. The one-eyed man said he was called Jack-Be-Lucky. And the one with the green beard was fittingly named Greenbeard.

The last man began to speak. "I am—"

"Harwin?" Why hadn't she recognized him at first?

He squinted at her, trying to place her face. Realization came over him. "Can it be?"

"Who is she, Harwin?"

Confident she was safe with Harwin, she finally announced herself. And it had never felt better. "I am Arya Stark of Winterfell."

She turned to Harwin. "And as my father's sworn sword, I ask you to leave us be."

"And what kind of sworn sword would I be if I just left you to fend for yourself in the middle of the Riverlands? No, my companions and I would be honored to accompany you and your friend wherever my lady wishes to go. "

She smiled broadly at the murmur of agreement from Harwin's friends.

* * *

"Seven hells," she cursed at her reflection in Harwin's dagger. The bruise was dark purple, with patches of something way too close to black, covering almost all of the left side of her face, from her cheek bone down to her jaw.

She met Gendry eyes in the dagger. "It isn't terrible, my arse."

There were only six horses, so she and Gendry were currently sharing one, and so were Greenbeard and Jack-Be-Lucky, who kept grumbling about it every few hours.

They took turns guiding the horse but Arya always sat in front for she could not see over Gendry's shoulder, much to her annoyance.

"What happened?" Harwin asked, as she handed him back the knife.

"The Mountain happened."

"Clegane? Have you been at Harrenhal?"

The moss on the trees caught her eye. It was growing in the opposite direction they were going. Moss grows on the north side of tree. Riverrun was not south of here.

"My lady?"

"Arya is fine," she corrected him, breaking out of her daze. "I was there."

"How did you escape?"

"I had… help, from a friend."

"Let's stop here," Tom said, jumping from his horse. "I don't know about you but I'm hungry. And we still have that nice rabbit, just waiting to be cooked."

"I don't know if we should start a fire," Arya warned.

"You'll be safe with us," Tom assured. "Don't worry."

She bit her lip as the men all got down from their horses and began to gather sticks for the fire.

Even Gendry slid off their horse.

She knew they weren't going to listen to her anyway so she followed suit. Gendry began to head over to help with the fire, but she grabbed him to keep him from leaving.

"Do you see the moss on the trees?"

He looked to a nearby tree, and then back to her. "Yes, why?"

"It grows on the north side."

"So?"

"We're going the wrong way. Riverrun is north."

"I don't know. To me it looks like the moss is growing on every side."

"Maybe…" She studies the moss again. "But there's more on one side."

"Is there?" he asked, tilting his head to look with her.

"I think so."

"Arya, maybe you're just being paranoid. You know Harwin, why would he mislead you?"

She didn't have an answer for him.

* * *

Every night since their escape Gendry had pulled Arya into his arms before falling asleep. But he did not this night, and Arya felt alone, like she was back at Harrenhal, too far from Gendry, even if he did lay less than a foot away from her.

She rolled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

"We can't, Arya, if they see-"

"I don't care about them. I'm cold. Are you going to let me freeze to death?" Okay, so the last part was a lie. The bright fire was not far from where she lay and its affects were felt.

He relented, wrapping her into his arms like he always did. "Your brother could have my head," he mumbled.

"Robb wouldn't do that," she told him, already half-asleep.

* * *

The sun rises in the east, then moves to the south at midday, and then it sets in the west. She was not the best student, but she had learned a few things from Maester Luwin.

It had to be midday by now. And they were going in the direction of the sun.

Arya pulled the horse to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Gendry asked from behind her.

She did not answer him. "Stop."

The rest of the group did not hear her, and rode right past her.

"Stop!"

They obeyed at the forcefulness in her tone.

"Why are we going South?" she demanded.

Tom gave her an uneasy smile. "We aren't—"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she yelled to them. "Tell me, _now_. Why aren't we going north?"

No one answered her. "You're not taking me to Riverrun, are you?" her voice softening with disappointment. She had been still hoping that they were not deceiving her, but underneath she had known the truth.

Harwin started to say her name but she cut him off by turning her horse away from them and into a gallop.

She had to get away. Arya did not know if she expected to ride all the way to her brother, to Winterfell, or if she was just trying to avoid capture.

The sound of hooves were not far behind her.

"Harwin's following," Gendry told her.

"Come on," she whispered to the mare as she gave her another kick.

Arya did not know how long this lasted, but soon her horse was begging for breath and began to slow to a trot. She egged her on, but she would not budge, and then Harwin came riding up beside her and gave her reins a tug.

"Your ride like your aunt," Harwin said, catching his breath. "You might've gotten away if your horse didn't have to carry two."

"Lyanna?"

He nodded. "You look like her, too."

This was not the first time she had heard this. But she never understood. Lyanna was the Queen of Love and Beauty and she… wasn't. "Everyone says Lyanna was beautiful."

"Aye," he grinned. "What's your point?"

She was tempted to roll her eyes. "How could you do this, Harwin? My father—"

"Was a good man," he finished. "And I follow out his final order to my last breath, but I do so under the Lord of Light and Lord Beric."

"_This_ is the Brotherhood Without Banners?"

"Part of it. We're on our way to join the rest."

"What does the Brotherhood want with me and Gendry?"

"Most like Beric will ransom you to your brother. We're a little tight on coin, you see… Will you run again?"

She glanced behind her shoulder to look at Gendry, whose face told her it was up to her.

"No," _For now_, she added silently. And then she left Harwin behind and cantered towards the rest of the group.

Arya took out her frustration on the animal, urging her faster and faster, until they came across a stream where it stopped to take a drink against Arya's will.

"Stupid horse," she huffed as she got down.

Suddenly feeling tired she sat down against a tree, Gendry soon joining her.

"So, we got captured again," he broke the silence, sounding just as drained as she was.

"Yeah."

* * *

Arya had not seen herself in a proper mirror since, well, it was to the point where she couldn't remember.

The same girl with brown hair and grey eyes stared back at her. But she was different now, and not because of the finally fading bruise on her cheek, or the dark hair that barely touched her shoulders, but because she had lost too many people, seen too many horrors, and killed people... If she was a lady before, she certainly wasn't now, and the dress she was wearing would not change that.

As soon as they stepped foot in Acorn Hall, Lady Ravella Smallwood whisked Arya off into a bath and had her handmaidens scrub her to what felt like to the bone. And then Lady Ravella herself forced her into this dress.

Arya didn't really like any dress at all, but this one was particularly ugly. It had _actual _acorns on it. Actual acorns!

"Couldn't I wear the clothes I came in?"

"They're already being washed."

"And in all of Acorn Hall there are no available pants?"

"No."

Arya ground her teeth. She knew that was impossible. There were some pants laying around here somewhere.

"Okay, fine."

* * *

She had grown accustomed to pants and already three times and counting she had stumbled over her skirts. How had she ever gotten around before in these things?

"Arya?"

Gendry's voice startled her, causing her to lose her footing once more, but she caught herself before she could fall head first into the muddy grass.

Of course, she had been walking right past the forge, and of course he would be there. She did not want to see him right now, not in this acorn dress. Maybe if she just kept walking….

"Hey, come back. Where are you going?"

Knowing escape was not an option, she turned back around to the forge and sat on a rather tall tree stump near Gendry. "If you laugh, I will not hesitate to slit your throat while you sleep."

"Why would I laugh?"

"Are you joking? I look like an oak tree with these stupid acorns!"

"A nice oak tree." He bent down and for one crazy second she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he leaned past her lips and to her neck, then he outright _sniffed_ her. "You smell nice for a change, too."

She swung her foot against his knee, taking his feet right out from under him. He surprised her by grabbing her leg and taking her down with him, laughing all the way. In retaliation, she flipped them over and tried to pin him down, but he easily turned them back over and he was too heavy to push off, which he also found very funny. Arya smiled, too, only slightly annoyed.

The playfulness she had felt suddenly disappeared. She had never been more aware of him. Aware of how beautiful his eyes truly were. Aware of how those eyes looked at her, like she was the only thing that existed. Aware of how close he was and the way his body molded perfectly against her own.

She wanted nothing more than to close the space between their lips. And Gendry seemed to want the same thing, as he brought his down to her, slowly coming closer and closer, until his lips hovered over hers, almost touching…

"_No man's gold was from them.."_

Tom's singing brought them back to their surroundings, and they awkwardly scrambled to get up.

"_Nor any maid_—" Tom stopped mid-song as he, Lady Smallwood, and Harwin approached. "What happened to you?"

"You've ruined the dress," Lady Smallwood said with dismay.

Arya looked down, and saw that she was right. There was a large tear, almost up to her knee, in the now muddy fabric.

"I tripped. I'm-" She was cut off by Lady Smallwood who, once again, was dragging her off to the castle, for another bath and a new dress, she was sure.

She didn't even have to time to really absorb what had happened.

* * *

At dinner, Tom of Sevenstreams was playing his harp so sweetly, trying to woo random women in Lady Ravella's service into his bed, which was a failure as it only led them to dance with other men.

"Do you want to dance?"

Gendry surprised her. He hadn't said a word to her, or even looked her in the eyes, since their almost kiss that afternoon.

"I'm not very good," she said, thinking back to all of the times she had stepped on one of her brother's feet.

"Neither am I." He gave her a small smile and offered out his hand.

She took it, and let him lead her closer to the group of dancers. When they stopped she awkwardly put her left hand on the top of his shoulder, and the other on the side of his arm, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. As they began to sway to music, she found herself subconsciously stepping closer to him until her head rest against his chest. She closed her eyes, breathing him in.

The song ended and Tom began another, this time a loud, bawdy song, and when that was done he sang another, but she didn't hear any of it. They stayed as they were, dancing slow, too lost in each other to notice.

And in that moment, she knew. She never wanted him to leave. She never wanted him to let go, to never stop swaying here with her. She never wanted to have to go a night without his arms around her.  
She wanted him to be there, every day, to tease her, to kiss her, to dance with her…

to _be _with her.

* * *

Lady Smallwood was sending them off, with food and two new horses so no one would have to share any longer.

"I'm sorry I tore your dress."

"It's okay, dear," she smiled. "Have a safe journey." She patted the horse and began to walk over to the others to say her goodbyes.

"My lady? I was wondering if I could ask you something." She turned back to her, waiting. "Did you get a letter from Stannis Baratheon?"

Arya did not care who Gendry was related to, but she did care about why her father had died. If this rumor was true, and her father had figured it out and he was killed because of it….

"Why, yes, but-"

"It was about Joffrey, wasn't it? Saying that he was not Robert's true heir? That he was not his son?"

"Yes, but a lady should not go asking about such filth-"

"You're right," Arya agreed, wanting to get out of this lecture. "Thank you for your help."

And with that, Arya rode over to Harwin. "So, where are we headed?"

"An inn in Stoney Sept."

"And I'm assuming, once again, that Beric will not be there?"

"No."

"Okay, how long until we get to the oh-so secret base he's hiding at?"

"We'll get there soon."

Could he be any more frustrating? "That's not a real answer."

"Well, it's the best you're getting."

* * *

"An inn, you said?"

Arya looked over The Peach, very amused by the fact that she had been brought to a brothel. Women were spread about, dressed in sheers, or less, sitting on the laps of men with goofy smiles plastered on their faces. She also noted the men from the Brotherhood were wearing similar smiles. Not Gendry, though. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable, which led to a flood of relief she didn't know she held.

"I don't know what you're implying," Harwin grinned. "I wouldn't take a lady such as yourself anywhere else."

"Of course not."

"Hello, old friends," said an approaching woman who Arya assumed owned the place as she was more modestly dressed. "You are always welcome to a bed here, and maybe someone to share it with?" She turned to Gendry. "He's new. And handsome, too. Wait till Alyce sees those arms of yours."

He went beet red from embarrassment, and so did Arya, though from anger. "And he blushes like a maid, too. Well, Alyce can fix that for you."

"Oh, Tansy, leave the poor Bull alone," Tom chimed in. "He's a good lad."

She listened and walked away, and good thing, too, as Arya was about ready to claw her eyes out. The men dispersed to find themselves a girl, and Arya and Gendry got something to drink and sat down together.

"Did they tell you anything about where we're going, or how long it will take?"

"No. Did you?"

"No, but maybe if we got Tom especially drunk—"

She was interrupted by a pretty dark haired girl with green eyes. "I'm Bella, after the Battle of the Bells," she introduced herself. "King Robert came here before the fighting, you know. Lanna says he had every girl, but he liked my mother best." She leaned in close to Gendry, her hand snaking down his chest, and whispered to him. "So, what do you say? Do you want to ring a King's daughter's bell?"

Jealousy like she had never felt before coursed through her. It was awful. All at the same time, she felt angry enough to stick this Bella with Needle, sad because Gendry did not belong to her, and sick at the image of Bella's hands all over him.

Her own feelings were forgotten when Gendry suddenly jumped up and away from the girl and stalked off. Bella merely shrugged at the rejection and went off to find someone else.

That was weird, Arya thought. Did he know?

Arya had been too caught up in her own murderous thoughts that she was just now realizing that Bella could be Gendry's half-sister. They even looked alike, except for their eyes.

If he did know, she felt strangely betrayed by the fact he did not share this information with her, which was silly, because she was doing the exact same thing to him.

"Helllloooo," the very drunk voice came from her side. "You're a pretty little peach, aren't you? What's your name?"

Arya did not like how close the strange old man was sitting next to her. She scooted a little ways down the bench. What name was she going by these days? "Jeyne. I, er, don't work here."

He scooted closer to her. "Doesn't bother me."

"Leave her be." Gendry pulled him up from his seat, and she was flashing back to the day they first met and scared off Hot Pie. "She's my sister."

Her heart fell at the word "sister". Was that all she was to him? Just a little sister? Had she been crazy to think he felt the same way she did?

"What kind of brother brings their sister to a brothel?" the old man muttered as he walked off, wanting to avoid a fight as much as Hot Pie did. "I certainly wouldn't…"

"Sister?" she found herself saying.

"Right," Gendry started, the fury in his voice taking Arya aback. "Because how could I, the lowborn bastard, be the brother of such a _noble _and _highborn_ lady?"

"That wasn't what I meant. You know I don't care-"

"Just go, okay?" He sat down and took another drink from his cup.

"No, not until—"

"Fine, I'll go then," he said as he got up from the bench. "Maybe I'll go find that girl and ring her bell."

She felt like Gregor had backhanded her again. "Fine!" she spat out, her own anger getting to her. "Why should I care who you fuck?"

She saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes, but then it was gone and so was he, off to sleep with his possible half-sister. Well, she guessed this meant he did not know he was Robert's son.

Arya was mad, but not mad enough to let him accidently partake in incest.

She bit her lip before trailing after him.

**To be continued...**


	6. Knives

**AN: Just a reminder that Arya doesn't have _everything_ figured out. She's put together what she could, but she doesn't have the whole Joffrey conspiracy thing exactly right. Anyways, thanks to all who reviewed/followed/favorited.  
Also, I got bored and gave the chapters titles for fun. I don't know why I'm telling you this...  
Can you believe the show comes back this Sunday? Who's excited?  
**  
"Wait!" Arya called after Gendry, who purposely pretended not to hear. The stupid bull, she was trying to help! "Are you going after that girl?"

"Maybe."

"Just stop for a second," she told him as she ran up to him, finally catching his arm, and pulling him around to face her.

"Look, you can't. Not with her," her voice strained at the last part. She didn't want him to be with anyone.

"Why?"

"Because—" This was it. She had to tell him. She had kept it from him for too long. Arya glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, and leaned in, trying to be as quiet as possible. "Because I think she might by your half-sister."

The utter confusion was apparent on his face, but then he was laughing in disbelief. "Arya, that's crazy. Why would you even think that?"

"You look like a Baratheon. The dark hair, and your eyes, Gendry, you have the same eyes. You, Renly, and Robert, and probably Stannis too, all of you have the same eyes."

"So what? Lots of people have blue eyes."

He didn't understand. They were _the same_. "Then why did my father come to see you? Why Jon Arryn? Why does Joffrey want you?"

"I don't know."

"They came to check on their best friend's son, that's why. And Joffrey is trying to secure the throne since you have better claim."

"Better claim?"

"Joffrey isn't Robert's. My father knew that, that's why he said he wasn't the rightful heir. He is actually the Queen's and her brother's."

He shakily ran his fingers through his hair. "This is mad. I—it can't be true."

"It is."

"How long have you thought this?"

Arya hesitated, feeling guilty and knowing he was not going to take this part well. "Since Harrenhal."

"HARRENHAL? YOU'VE KEPT THIS FROM ME SINCE HARRENHAL?"

Every eye in the room was on them, now. Arya felt like crawling into a dark corner, letting the shadows envelop her and waiting until the rest of the realm forgot about her. It seemed like an hour passed before everyone went back to their own business, but in truth it was probably closer to ten seconds.

"I'm sorry—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, still harsh but this time a great deal quieter.

"Robert is dead," she answered meekly. "I guess I thought you were better off—"

"Gods, Arya! That isn't for you to decide!" He started to pace for a good minute and then suddenly stopped. "You know what? I don't believe it. It's impossible. It's just impossible." And with that, he walked away from her again, to ring Bella's bell or what, she didn't know.

This time she didn't follow. Instead, she retreated to the bar.

Arya and Gendry had never fought like that before. She had been angry with him a number of times, but he always had a way of making her forget. This time it was different. He was the one who was mad, and she had to admit with good reason. And now he was off to fuck his sister and she had no idea if they were okay.

"More wine?" the serving girl asked.

Arya shook her head. "Something stronger."

The girl poured something brown into a glass and handed it to her. Arya sniffed it, and knew immediately that this would in fact be stronger. She brought it to her lips, taking a small sip. It was awful, but the burn in her throat was particularly troubling. Well, you don't exactly drink it for the taste. She smiled remembering Yoren's words, but then it fell, feeling even worse at the memory of the man who had saved her.

"Sometimes the best way is just to toss it back," the serving girl suggested.

She took her advice and swallowed it all at once, trying not to flinch at the feeling of her throat on fire.

* * *

Three and a half drinks later, the room was spinning around her. The serving girl now had a twin, and Arya could barely remember where she was or even her own name.

She stumbled off the bar stool, using the table for support. Why was everything moving?

She knew she needed to get to bed and sleep this off. Her vision blurred, she could barely make out the stairs that led to the rooms upstairs. She staggered over to them, her feet seeming to belong to someone else.

She made it up two steps before falling down. Once on the ground, she felt so tired. It wasn't even uncomfortable; she could just sleep here…

Someone scooped her up from the floor. She knew those arms.

"Gendry," she mumbled into his chest, her fingers grabbing at his shirt. "Why is everything spinning?"

He carried her up to their room, one arm underneath her knee and the other around her back.

Arya sighed as she was placed onto the fluffy bed. It was stuffed with feathers, she was sure. She looked down at the tug at her feet and saw Gendry had pulled off one boot and was now fiddling with the laces on the other.

"Where did you go?" The silent question being, 'were you with one of those girls?'

He slipped her left shoe off and stood up. "Went for a walk." He pulled the blankets over her before getting under them himself. "I needed to be alone."

She could feel sleep taking her away. She needed to know before she let it. "Are we okay?"

"Yes."

She closed her eyes, relieved and ready for sleep. "I care who you fuck, you know." Arya thought maybe that was as close as she would ever get to admitting her feelings to him.

She surrendered to sleep before he could reply.

* * *

Arya woke to the sound of dog's barking, which caused her head to feel like she had banged it several times against a wall the previous night, which she had absolutely no recollection of doing.

Things were a little fuzzy, but she remembered most of the events of last night. She remembered falling and Gendry carrying her up to bed. She remembered him telling her they were okay. But she had said something to him before falling asleep that was lost on her part.

She wondered how he was handling being a Baratheon. Did he even believe it?

He was holding her now, which immediately shut down any remaining doubts that he was still angry with her.

She was on her side, his chest pressed against her back. She could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. For a moment she almost forgot about the painful throbbing in her head.

The dogs were still barking madly. Why wouldn't they shut up?

Arya slipped out of Gendry's arms, careful not to disturb his sleep and padded over to the window.

She couldn't believe what she saw. Two men were outside, one pushing the other on his knees, his hands tied and clearly a prisoner.

Gendry joined her. "Who are they?"

She flinched in pain at his voice. "I don't know who the man is who captured him. But the other, that's The Hound." She paused before deciding. "I'm going to kill him."

* * *

Arya raced down the stairs. A few of the girls were eating breakfast at the bar, and she grabbed a knife right out of Bella's hands, never breaking from her run. She could hear Gendry calling after her but she ignored him and flew out of the door.

Her blood boiled at the sight of Sandor Clegane, who seemed to be trying to place her face.

"Are you with the Brotherhood?" the Hound's captor asked her.

She paid him no mind as she began to pounce on Sandor, knife poised to strike, but then someone grabbed her from behind while she was in mid-air.

"Let go!" She struggled to free herself, but he held her too tightly. "He killed my friend! He killed Mycah!"

At the mention of the butcher's boy, Sandor recognized her. "Why, it's the little wolf."

She tried to leap at him again, but she was only held tighter. "Calm down," Harwin told her, who turned out to be the one holding her back. Lem appeared in front of her and took the knife from her hands. "We have to take him to Lord Beric. There he'll be tried for his crimes. There will be justice. But we have to wait." Arya settled down a bit at that. "If I put you down do you promise not to try to kill him again?"

She reluctantly nodded, and then she was placed back down on the ground. She realized everyone was there, watching her, the Brotherhood, Gendry, the "peaches", and even the damned dogs. With one last glare at the Hound, she stomped over to Gendry who protectively put his arms around her and led her back inside the brothel.

"Are you okay?"

"No," she told him, suddenly feeling dizzy and sick. Arya, knowing what was happening, quickly hovered over a decorative vase on a nearby table, and up came the contents of her stomach, because of her drinking the night before or the whole ordeal with the Hound, she didn't know.

Exhausted, she fell in a heap onto the floor. Gendry sat beside her.

"Feel any better?"

She sighed. "No."

* * *

They were staying one more night at The Peach, and the next morning they were to leave to the Brotherhood safe house, base, or whatever it was. Arya knew it would be a restless night as The Hound was there, locked in one of the rooms, which she did not know, but maybe that was for the better. At least her headache was gone. She blew out the few candles that lit the room before crawling into the bed. It was comfortable, but she missed her bed at Winterfell.

"Who is Mycah?"

She turned to him, barely making out Gendry's shape in the darkness. "He was the butcher's son."

She began to tell him the story of how she asked him to teach her how to fight, how Joffrey and her sister came upon them when they were sparring, how Joffrey threatened her friend and how she hit him, how he attacked her and how Nymeria bit him for it, how she had to throw rocks at her newfound companion to get her to leave, how Joffrey and Sansa lied about the whole thing, how Lady died, and lastly how The Hound killed Mycah for "attacking the prince".

The guilt she thought she had successfully buried came rushing back. If she hadn't asked him to help her… She forced it back down. She couldn't think of that right now.

When she finished, he pulled her to him like he did every night. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"He's going to die for what he did," she said into his chest.

* * *

Arya felt someone behind her untie the torn fabric that covered her eyes. Soon it was off and she let her eyes adjust to what light there was in the dark cave. Greenbeard was at her side, her blindfold in hand. Harwin approached with a blindfolded Gendry before removing the fabric.

The Hound was on his way to the center, his hands tied and a sack over his head, led by his captor, who she knew now to be The Mad Huntsman.  
All of the usual members of the Brotherhood were there, plus three new additions.

A boy around thirteen with the lightest blonde hair she had ever seen stood beside a man she barely recognized as Beric Dondarrion. Arya knew him to be handsome before, but now he looked like... death. He was sickly thin, missing an eye, and to her it almost looked like his skull had been fatally crushed in, but that wasn't possible.

And the red priest Thoros of Myr was also very different than she remembered. He seemed to have aged drastically, growing thin and tired.

Once the Hound's hood was removed, Beric spoke. "What are the charges?"

Her fellow travelers started a list of names, few she knew, that she assumed the Hound had killed.

On the fifteenth name the Hound interrupted with a laugh. "This is justice? How am I responsible for what Gregor and every Lannister man has done?"

She did not like the look of consideration on Beric's face. "He killed Mycah!"

"Him, again? He attacked the prince-"

"He didn't do anything!" she screamed to the Hound before turning to Beric. "_Joffrey _was the one who attacked Mycah."

"Do you deny killing this Mycah?" Beric asked.

The Hound didn't say anything.

Beric turned to Thoros and had a brief conversation that she couldn't hear. "I sentence you to trial by combat. "

The Hound perked up at this. "With who?"

"With me."

"He'll win, you idiots!"

They didn't listen to her. The blonde boy was giving Beric his sword. And Thoros was cutting the ropes off of the Hound's wrists. As he brought him his sword, he spoke to Anguy. "Shoot him if he tries to run."

She watched as he readied his bow.

Thoros was starting a prayer to the Lord of Light while Beric dragged his sword across his palm, drawing a trail of blood. Arya gasped as his sword suddenly caught fire. It was like magic.

The Hound raised his sword, but she swore she saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Beric made the first move, which he easily blocked.

They danced around each other, meeting sword with sword, the sound of steel clashing ringing in her ears.

Arya thought it was over when Dondarrion cut the Hound's shoulder, flames running down his arm. She didn't know if the Hound howled in pain or terror. She thought for sure he had given up, but with one last hack of his sword he cut through Beric's shoulder all the way to his breastbone. Dondarrion fell to his knees before planting head first on to the stone floor. She watched as Thoros dragged the body away.

The Hound collapsed to the ground, screaming, desperately trying to put out the flames.

She saw the dagger in Greenbeard's belt, just calling out for her to take it. Before she knew what she was doing she grabbed it and was running towards the Hound.

A hand caught her wrist, spinning her around. She had known it was him by the feel of his hands, but she was still surprised that Gendry stopped her. She searched his eyes, confused. Why was he protecting him?

"Killing him won't bring him back, Arya," he told her gently. She looked away from his gaze, uncomfortable under the look he was giving her. "It's not your fault, you know. You didn't know what would happen to him."

She looked back up to him, her eyes starting to water despite herself. "Then why do I feel so guilty?"

He didn't say anything but instead let his hand move up from her wrist to her hand. She watched as their fingers threaded together. When she looked up from their hands, he was longer looking at her but behind her, shock evident in his eyes. She turned to see what was so surprising.

A living and breathing Beric Dondarrion was leaning against Thoros, tired but alive.

* * *

They let the Hound go. Arya was not entirely happy about it, but she stayed silent. At least they took his gold.

The cave led out to a shallow pond and to a Brotherhood camp. Tents were scattered about the field, all in various sizes. The one they currently occupied was larger, fitting a table that sat most of the Brotherhood. Arya had been expecting more people in the group that had the Lannister's on their toes, but in truth there was only close to thirty men.

Though the chicken was delicious and the summerwine sweet, nothing was distracting Arya.

"Stop staring at him."

"I can't help it." Arya tore her eyes from Beric Dondarrion to look at Gendry. "I swear he died."

"Well, obviously he didn't," he whispered.

"But the cut was so deep." Gendry didn't reply to this, so she continued. "He looked really dead. Like, _really_ dead."

Lem spoke up, "It was grievous wound, but Thoros is a gifted healer."

Apparently, they had not been as quiet as she thought.

"Even brave men blind themselves from truths they do not want to see," Beric interrupted. "How many times have you brought me back, Thoros?"

"_The Lord of Light_," he corrected, "has brought you back six times. I'm afraid the seventh might be the last."

Were they saying that he been brought back from the dead?

"I am forgetting things. I can no longer remember who knighted me, my favorite food, to whom my betrothed is—"

"Allyria Dayne," Arya told him. Every head at the table turned to her. "Jeyne Poole was really heartbroken, went on about it for days."

"Jeyne Poole?" Beric asked, trying to remember. "I don't know this Jeyne Poole."

"You wouldn't. I don't think she ever even said a word to you. It was just a silly crush."

Arya wondered what Jeyne would think of Beric now, half-dead and without his good looks. She had a feeling that she would probably flee in the opposite direction as fast as possible. Arya cut off a bite of chicken from her plate before placing it into her mouth.

The blonde boy entered the tent and handed a letter to Beric before leaving. His eyes looked almost purple in the lighting. Maybe he had Targaryen blood in him somewhere?

Arya could tell it was bad news as she watched Beric read the message. When he was done, he looked right to her, making her heart stop.

"What happened?" she managed to say, her throat dry.  
"I am sorry, my lady."

"What happened?" she repeated.

"It's Winterfell, it's been sacked by iron men. They burned it all. I'm sorry to-."

_Her home_. "My brothers?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "My mother?"

"Your mother is safe in Riverrun."

"Bran and Rickon?"

Beric looked to Harwin and some of the others. "No one told her?"

"Told me what?"

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "They are dead."

_Dead. _ She clenched the knife in her hands. And in a sudden fit of anger she grabbed the glass of wine and threw it across the tent. Arya heard it crash onto the ground as she stood up from her chair. She started to pace back and forth. They couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. She kicked over a standing candle holder, the flames now too close to the tent for some of the Brotherhood's comfort.

"Arya, please," Harwin said from behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

She spun around, the forgotten knife in her hand now outstretched, pointing at Harwin. "I should have been there!" she screamed, her eyes glassy with tears that threatened to fall. "I would have been there if you hadn't taken me!"

If Harwin was afraid at all, he did not give it away. He only gave her a sympathetic look. "They died before we took you."

There was nothing she could have done. She started to lower the knife, the tears beginning to fall freely. Behind her, familiar arms wrapped themselves around her. He pried the knife out of her hands as she fell onto her knees, erupting into full on sobs. Gendry came down with her, whispering something that sounded so far away. She turned into him, burying her face into his neck as she clutched at his shirt.

"I'm here, I'm here," she heard him tell her through the sounds of her own crying. "I'm not leaving."

Arya thought the tears would never stop.


	7. Reunited

**AN: Did you guys like the new episode? I'm excited for the next one. Arya, of course. And Jaime/Brienne. Maybe we'll finally meet the Reeds?**

**In the last chapter, I totally forgot that Beric's sword actually broke in half. Sorry about that.**

**Thanks to those who reviewed/followed/favorited. It's always appreciated.**

Arya was woken gently by the pitter-patter of rain. She sat up in the bed, wrapping the blankets around her shoulders. She rubbed her tired eyes, sure they were red and puffy.

She was in a spacious tent, one that could fit more décor than it currently held. There was just a mattress on a rug, and then some surrounding candles to light the room.

She was alone. Where had Gendry gone? She remembered he had carried her off to bed sometime during her breakdown the previous night. He had been there when she had fallen asleep…

Someone appeared through the back entrance of her tent, sopping wet, dripping onto the floor. He seemed to be expecting some kind of exclamation from her, maybe another death threat, but it didn't come. She was too tired.

The Hound spoke first. "I want my gold back."

"I don't have it."

"Who does? Your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," she corrected. "Thoros has it, most likely."

He turned to leave.

"When was the last time you saw my sister?" she found herself asking.

He stopped. "What?"

"My sister, Sansa. When did you see her last?"

"At the Battle of the Blackwater."

When was that? She was still at Harrenhal then, wasn't she? Yes, she remembered Ray was rather talkative about it. "Was she… okay?"

"She's with Joffrey. What do you think?"

Arya did not think she was capable of more tears, but her eyes watered anyway. Sansa, gentle Sansa, with that monster.

"She's surviving," The Hound told her with a surprising softness. "She's stronger than you think"

She nodded to him her thank you, suddenly feeling determined. She knew what she had to do now.

He nodded back before disappearing through the back of the tent.

Gendry walked in through the tent entrance literally seconds after the Hound left, carrying a tray, his hair damp and unkempt from with rain. Even after all that happened last night, he still took her breath away by how beautiful he really was.

"You're awake."

She simply nodded in response.

"I got you breakfast," he said whilst sitting across from her, placing the tray in between them on the bed. He lifted the lid that was used to protect the food from the rain and revealed a glass of water, a biscuit with honey along with some grapes and also a few slices of bacon.

She didn't make a move to eat it. It just didn't sound appetizing.

"Come on, you haven't eaten in a day."

What? "I had dinner last night."

"No, you had dinner the night before last night. You slept all day yesterday."

That was surprising, but she still didn't want to eat. "I'm not hungry."

"Arya, please?" he asked, eyes pleading with her.

She stared at him for a moment, and then let out an exasperated sigh. She tore off a chunk of the biscuit and took a bite. At that, she realized she _was_ hungry and finished off the piece of bread and had a few of the grapes.

"Happy?" she asked before taking a sip of the water.

The corners of his lips quirked up. "Yes." He then noticed the puddle that the Hound had left in her tent. "What happened there?"

"The Hound came back, dripping all over the place."

"What? Why?"

"He wanted his gold."

"So much he might start killing everyone?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"We should tell them."

"Fine," she stood from the bed, untangling herself from the blankets. "I need to ask Beric something anyway."

* * *

"We're not killing him," Beric announced.

"The Lord of Light is not done with him yet," Thoros told the surrounding crowd. Arya spotted all of her travelling companions in the mass of people.

"But—"

"He didn't hurt anyone," Beric interrupted one of the men who Arya didn't know. "And we don't know where he is. That is the end of this." The people began to disperse with that.

Arya and Gendry walked through the rain, which had slowed generously, and over to Beric and Thoros, who had been joined by Harwin and Tom.

"Good, you are safe," Harwin told her. She felt a pang of guilt at voice, remembering how she pulled a knife on him. "We were about send someone to check on you."

"The Hound has paid us a visit," Tom explained.

"Everyone is okay, then?" Gendry asked.

"Yes," Thoros answered. "He just made some empty threats that have shaken some of our men."

Well, this was as good a time as any. "When can we leave?" Arya blurted.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked her.

"You told me to wait until we got to Beric. And I did. You said you were going to ransom me. And now I'm waiting, again. I'm tired of it. I've been away too long. I need to be with my family. It's time for me to leave for Riverrun."

Beric agreed, nodding his head. "I think we can leave in a few days-"

"Tomorrow," Arya said, surprised by how demanding she sounded . "I want to leave _tomorrow._"

Beric looked to Thoros, who shrugged, and then to Tom and Harwin, who also didn't have anything to say.

"Then we leave in the morning."

Soon, she would be with one of the two brothers she had left, and her mother, too. And she would help however she could, with Sansa and the war. Arya vowed to herself that what family she had left would be reunited.

* * *

The arrow hit the target, but, of course, only on the very edge. Arya was rusty.

"Dammit."

"Relax," Anguy told her while he readjusted her elbow. "Try again."

She took his advice, taking a deep breath to calm herself. She shot the arrow, and it hit the target, this time in exact center.

"Good," he praised.

Arya beamed, and turned to Gendry to share her smile but he had that look in his eyes again.

She had caught him giving her this look a few times since they had arrived back at Acorn Hall, where they were waiting for a raven from her brother to agree to ransom her.

Arya didn't know what the look was. Sometimes she thought there was a hint of sadness to it.

"What?"

"It's nothing," he said, finally smiling. "Could I try?"

She handed him the bow as her answer and watched as Anguy taught him how to work it.

That look was not nothing. What did it mean?

* * *

She snarled, circling her prey with her pack. She could smell the fear off of them.

She growled before leaping onto one, narrowly avoiding a spear, and tore out its neck, blood rushing down her throat and flesh in between her teeth.

Arya woke with a start. She had not dreamt about Nymeria in so long, not since before they said goodbye.

She killed a man. She could still taste his blood on her lips.

It was just a dream, though, right? It wasn't real.

She slipped out of her bed and out of her chambers. She tiptoed down the hall, headed for Gendry's room.

Beric had brought almost all of the Brotherhood to Acorn Hall with them, which Arya was against, as a bigger party brought more attention to them, but there was nothing to do be done about it. Lady Smallwood was not happy, either, to have to play host to so many men. There were so many people that most were sharing rooms. Not Arya, though, as the Brotherhood seemed to seriously lack women, and Lady Smallwood would not let her share with a boy.

Arya would have snuck into Gendry's room by now, but he was sharing with Lem, Harwin, _and _Tom.

She couldn't exactly just drag him away from them and use "I'll sleep better" as an excuse. Plus, it would probably get back to Lady Smallwood, and so far she had not been forced into a dress and she wanted to keep it that way.

But that dream had her shaken.

She opened the door as quietly as she could. There were two beds, two sleeping lumps in one, and another in the second. Gendry sat at the foot of the second bed, having just removed his shoes and shirt. When he saw her come in, she motioned for him to come outside into the hallway.

"You're up late," she whispered once he joined her.

"I was in the forge, lost track of the time."

She smiled, happy that he was able to do what he loved again. She wished she was able to, too, but she no longer had a sword.

"Are you okay?"

"I had a—a weird dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She looked down, suddenly feeling nervous. "I, just- can you come back to bed with me?"

For a moment, Arya thought he was going to say no, but then he got that look again, whatever it meant, and took her hand and began to lead her to her room.

They crawled into bed together before wrapping themselves around each other. Arya sensed something different, like this moment was important, though she didn't know why. Arya pushed the strange feeling away and soon she was falling asleep.

She didn't notice that Gendry held her just a little more tightly than usual.

* * *

The next day, Arya was walking through the courtyard over to the table where the Brotherhood sat, having lunch.

She could hear Tom singing a song in the distance, a sad melody Arya hadn't heard before.

"Hey."

She smiled at his voice. Gendry, she knew. She hadn't seen him since the night before. When she had woken alone, she assumed he had gone back to his room early that morning so his roommates wouldn't notice his absence.

He came up from behind her and easily fell into sync with her steps.

She turned to look at him, sensing his gaze. He was staring at her, and with that look again.

"What?" she asked while coming to a halt. "And don't say 'nothing', or I swear to the old gods and the new you won't be able hammer any of your precious swords for at least two weeks."

He gave her a sad smile. She didn't understand. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

For what? What was he talking about? She searched his face for answers, but all she saw was the look.

He then bent down and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. What was happening?

And then he was walking over to the Brotherhood. Very confused, she followed.

"Lord Beric," Gendry started, the song finally finishing. "I've been thinking, and I've decided I want to join the Brotherhood as a blacksmith."

Her heart stopped. He meant to leave her.

"Are you sure? So many are after us, the Lannisters, the Bloody Mummers—"

"I am sure."

"May I ask why?"

"I've got nowhere to go. And I like that you're trying to do something good, protecting the Riverlands and it's people…"

No where to go? You could have gone with me, Arya wanted to tell him. You could have been a blacksmith for Robb.

"Very well." Beric stood and unsheathed his sword. She watched as Gendry got down on his knees. "I, Beric Dondarrion, knight you—"

Arya couldn't hear the rest. She was running, running as far away as possible.

An emptiness crept itself inside her. She was alone, so alone. She couldn't breathe. She stopped at a tree, her hands grabbing at a branch for support, feeling like she might topple over. When had she gotten into the woods?

She tried to even out her breathing to no avail. Tears pricked at her eyes. She heard footsteps behind her, loud enough to only belong to _him_.

As soon as Gendry's hand touched her shoulder, she spun around, a rage erupting within her, and slapped him hard across the face. His hand instinctively reached up to touch the spot where she hit him. She saw the glint of hurt in his eyes, but she didn't care. He had lied to her.

"You said!" she screamed, remembering the day she found out about her brothers, unable to hold back the tears now. "_You said_ you wouldn't leave!"

"Arya, please—"

"Why?" she sobbed to him. "I want to know why!_"_

He didn't answer.

"Why?" she demanded, again.

"Because I'm in love with you!" he suddenly shouted, his own anger beginning to show.

The tears stopped. In love?

"I can't go with you, Arya," he continued. "I can't hear them tell me no. I can't watch you get married off to some lord. I can't do it! I can't—"

She shut him up by quickly closing the space between them, grabbing his face and bringing it down to hers, their lips crashing together.

Arya was no longer aware of the rest of the world. It was just him; his lips, his hand that tangled with her hair, the other along her waist that desperately pulled her closer, his body that pressed against hers..

When they finally parted, they kept close, their foreheads pressed together. "I don't care," she breathed to him. "I don't care who my mother wants me to marry_. I don't care_. I promise we'll find a way. I promise, okay?"

He nodded before meeting her lips for another kiss.

* * *

"It's why I've been in the forge so much."

Arya held the blade in her hands, looking it over. It was perfect.

It was similar to Needle, skinny and suitable for Arya's size, but the biggest difference was the hilt, where a metal direwolf was carved in. "It's mine?"

"Yes. How's the balance?"

Her eyes shot up at that, remembering Jon's words. "Good, I think," she repeated, lost in the memory. She didn't even realize there wasn't even a way to tell as she wasn't holding it properly.

"I was going to give it to you when we said goodbye, but now we don't have to, so…" The combination of old memories of Jon and this being possibly the nicest thing someone has ever done for her was causing her eyes to water. "Hey, why are you crying? If you don't like it-"

She cut him off by jumping on him, throwing her arms around his neck, careful not cut him with her new sword, and then her legs around his waist. He caught her easily like Jon had.

"I love it," she whispered into his neck. She pulled back to look into his eyes.

She knew, now. She was in love with him. _Arya Stark_ was in love. She would have laughed if it wasn't such a serious moment. Who would believe it?

"I-I love—" The words were caught in her throat.

"You don't have to say it if you don't want," he told her.

He leaned in, and let his lips gently brushed hers, his tongue meeting hers briefly, sending shivers down Arya's spine. That was new. Wanting more, she pulled him back in to a mess of clashing lips and tongue.

Arya was so caught up in him and this newfound desire she barely even noticed she was being backed against a wall.

Well, this certainly had gone in a completely different direction than it had with Jon.

She gasped into his mouth as she felt his hardness pressing into her. Her instincts taking over, she ground against him, a low moan escaping her at the unexpected sensation.

Gendry groaned, and then she was back on her feet and he was running out of the forge without a word to her.

What just happened? Had she done something wrong?

She realized she had dropped her sword during all of this. She went to pick it up and put it in her belt. All of the best swords have names, what would she name this one?

Arya stepped out of the forge, and almost immediately unfamiliar arms grabbed her from behind. His hand muffled her screams. She struggled to free herself, her hand stretching to reach her new sword. His arm was in the way. She panicked when she saw no one else was around.

_Not today. Not today.  
_  
"Stop fidgeting, will you?" She recognized the voice. It was the Hound. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Then there was a blur of grey fur and then she was knocked down on the ground, and the Hound was screaming in pain.

"Nymeria, to me."

Her direwolf suddenly leaped off of the Hound and onto Arya, licking her face. Arya smiled and hugged her old friend. "You got so big!"

The Hound's howling brought her back to the situation. She scratched Nymeria behind the ear before standing up and going over to her attacker. His leg was bleeding badly where Nymeria had bit him. He needed help.

"Give me your sword, hilt first, and slow, or your Nymeria's dinner."

The direwolf growled for emphasize.

The Hound looked at Nymeria before reluctantly doing as she asked.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so." He attempted to get up, but had trouble so Arya helped get him on his feet. She started to the castle with him leaning against her for support and Nymeria at her heels. "You need to see the maester."

"They'll hang me."

"They won't. The idiots think The Lord of Light has some special reason for keeping you alive. "

"The gods couldn't give a shit about me," The Hound told her with a dry laugh. "And what about you? You aren't going to try and kill me? To avenge your beloved butcher's boy?"

Arya purposely bumped her knee into his bite, which caused him to let out a satisfying yelp of pain. "Don't talk about him or I swear I will leave you here to bleed out." He stayed quiet after that, the only noise being Arya's erratic breathing from having to carry half his weight. "Were you going to take me to the Lannisters?"

He was laughing that humorless laugh again. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

That sounded like an insult to her. "What does that mean?"

He didn't answer as they were interrupted by a woman's scream. She saw they had reached a more populated area.

"Wolf!"

She saw some men pulling out their swords, and Anguy readying his bow.

"Don't shoot!" Arya panicked. "It's fine! She's with me! She's with me! Watch. Sit, Nymeria."

When she obeyed, the people lowered their weapons, but still looked uneasy. A few, she saw, were looking questioningly at the Hound's clearly bitten leg.  
He was getting difficult to support. Why was he so heavy? "Can someone help me with him?"

* * *

Arya watched as the maester gave the Hound stitches. She almost felt a little guilty at his hisses of pain, but he had tried to kidnap her after all.

Beric and Thoros were in the corner, arguing quietly about how they had let the Hound follow them. Well, that's what happens when you travel with so many people. It draws too much attention. She told them that before they left the Brotherhood camp, but they didn't listen. Arya was tempted to tell them "I told you so", but she bit her tongue.

Gendry came in then, almost knocking her over with his hug. "Are you okay?"

She blushed, remembering the last time they had seen each other. Why had he run away?

"I'm fine, really," she assured him into his chest.

"How sweet, the little wolf and her lover, reunited after a brush with death."

They pulled apart at the Hound's comment. _I'm not going to hurt you_. His words echoed through her head. Why did the Hound want people to think all he was was a murderer?

"I should have let her cut your throat!" he rounded on the Hound with a sudden burst of anger.

Gendry started towards the Hound, so Arya grabbed him, thinking he might attack him. "I'm okay. Nymeria found me in time."

He finally noticed the direwolf at her side, his eyes widening. "I didn't expect her to be so big."

"I didn't, either," Arya smiled, patting her furry companion's head. "She grew since the last time I saw her."

"Can I..?" he trailed off as he outstretched his hand to Nymeria.

Arya nodded. She watched as Gendry cautiously reached out to stroke Nymeria's fur. Gendry smiled as he scratched behind her ear, causing Nymeria to lean into his touch.

Arya was relieved, and a bit proud of her choice of… well, to be honest she didn't know what to call him. But the point was that Nymeria approved of Gendry.

"Lord Beric, there was a raven from Riverrun."

She spun around to Edric Dayne carrying a rolled up piece of parchment. Arya held her breath as he handed it to Beric.

For the first time, she had doubts that her family would pay her ransom. Maybe they did not want her back. Arya knew this was possibly the silliest thing she had ever thought in all her life. They were her family and they loved her, of course they wanted her back. But what if the price was too high? She didn't even think to ask how much the Brotherhood was demanding.

The wait was killing her. "Did they agree?"

Beric looked up from the letter.

He nodded. "You leave for Riverrun in the morning."

* * *

Only Harwin left Acorn Hall with Arya and Gendry. Beric thought this would be better since both her mother and Robb knew him.

She considered the five others that found her and Gendry to be… Well, maybe not friends, so to speak, as they had kidnapped her, but she had still been sad to say goodbye. Arya had to admit that maybe she wouldn't be going back to her family if they hadn't found her.

Thoros and Beric had decided that the Hound would be held captive at Acorn Hall until Arya was safe in Riverrun, in case he still had the urge to kidnap her. After she was successfully ransomed, the Hound would be free to go, _again_. It was getting ridiculous.

And now, she was sitting alone by a pond, looking at her reflection in the water. Her hair was getting longer, almost passing her shoulders. She decided maybe she would let it grow out. Her mother would like that.

Arya was nervous. So much had happened since she had last seen her mother. So much had happened to _her._ She went from an innocent girl with braided hair who rebelled by ditching scheduled needlework with her septa to a killer in a little more than a year's time. She wasn't even sure how many people she killed, at least five by her own hands. And if the people Jaqen killed counted, then she had no idea. Three and the guards. How many guards were there? Ten?

A small voice inside her head asked Arya if she really thought her mother would still love her if she knew what she's done.

Of course, she would. She was her mother. Right?

And to top it all off, she was now in love with a blacksmith. It angered her to know that her mother would not approve. So what if he wasn't 'highborn"? He loved her. He was good for her. Gendry could make her forget every terrible thing that has happened with something as simple as a smile. He could be annoying the hell out of her one second and then have her laughing the next. He kept her sane. He made her happy. How could there be anything wrong with that?

Arya wondered if her mother would take it better if she knew that Gendry was Robert Baratheon's son. Probably not, it would only remind her of Jon.

She could see Gendry's reflection approaching in the water.

He sat down beside her. "Harwin says we'll be at Riverrun tomorrow."

Arya tensed at the thought of seeing them so soon. "Tomorrow?"

He nodded. "You okay?"

"I haven't seen them in so long," she whispered, feeling shaken.

His hand was on her cheek in an instant, lifting her face to look at him. "It's going to be okay. They're your family." He brushed a fallen piece of hair behind her ear. "They love you."

Arya had already forgotten whatever had her so upset. The skin underneath his fingertips was on fire. Her gaze was drifting from those eyes she loved so much and down to his lips.

Before she knew it, she had her lips pressed against his. Her hand was in his hair, pulling him closer. When she let her tongue sweep along his lip, he groaned and pulled away.

Arya was getting mad. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"I-I can't have a bastard, Arya."

_Oh. _She felt her cheeks flush. "Well, kissing me won't-."

"I wanted to do more than kiss you," he told her. Arya was taken aback by the intense desire in his gaze.

"So did I."

Arya wasn't embarrassed anymore. She leaned in once more, losing herself in his kisses. She pulled herself onto his lap. His hands were wandering up her sides, occasionally slipping underneath the hem of her shirt. She let her nails rake though his hair, earning a moan from him. She pushed him down so he was laying in the grass and began to trail kisses down his jaw and neck.

"We can't," his pained voice said. It sounded like it physically hurt him to say no.

She was disappointed, but it wouldn't be fair to him for her to keep persisting. Also, Harwin wasn't very far from where they were. "Okay, okay." She rolled off of him and lay down beside him. "I'll stop throwing myself at you from now on."

He turned his neck to his left to face her. "Not entirely, I hope."

She grinned as she turned her neck in a similar manner. "Not entirely."

They leaned in for a more innocent kiss. But Nymeria suddenly appeared, jumping on top of them, licking Gendry's face.

Arya laughed. "I have some competition for your attention, it seems."

"Come on, we both know Nymeria is the only one for me."

Arya smiled, but rolled her eyes. She noticed how close he was to the edge of pond and gave him a shove. He disappeared under the water with a splash, Nymeria jumping out of the way to escape the same fate. When he broke the surface and she saw his grin, she knew exactly what he was planning. She desperately scrambled to get away from the pond.

"Not so fast, _my lady_," he said while pulling her into the water with him.

The cold water was a shock, but bearable. She swam to the top, and immediately jumped on him. In attempt to wipe that stupid grin off his face, she tried to dunk his head under the water, but he wouldn't budge. Arya assumed his feet must be able to reach the bottom of the pond.  
He was laughing at her struggle, and soon she was joining in.

"Stupid bull-headed boy," she muttered between laughs, finally giving up.

"I'm really glad you're coming with me, you know."

"I am, too."

* * *

When the tall sandstone walls of Riverrun were in view, Arya had to stop herself from going ahead.

But when she could see her brother, Arya couldn't help it. She urged her horse into a gallop.

"Arya, wait!" Harwin called after her.

She didn't care. It was Robb.

Arya could already feel the tears swelling in her eyes.

She was so close. She could see his face. "Faster," she whispered to the horse.

He was running over to her. Arya jumped down from her horse and raced towards him.

The direwolves reached each other first, wrestling and licking one another's fur.

And then she was there. She was being lifted into his arms.

"You're here," she said into his neck, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm here," Robb told her, voice strained to keep his own tears at bay.

**AN: Maybe not the most king-ly thing, but whatever. He loves his sister.  
I almost named this chapter "tears" or something. Everyone's crying.  
If you want to help me out, give me some names for Arya's sword. I'm having trouble. Nothing seems to live up to Needle. **


	8. A Princess

**AN: Sorry this one took so long to post, but I hope I made up for it as this is the longest chapter to date.**

**I decided to name Arya's new sword Fang, as the lot of you liked that one best! Thank you ScribledNotebook for suggesting it! But really thank you everyone for suggesting other names and doing my work for me. haha**

**PottedLilies brought to my attention that I did not clarify something about Gendry and the Brotherhood. Beric never finished knighting him. Gendry ran after Arya as soon as she darted off into the woods. I think if he had swore an oath he wouldn't be so easy to leave with her. I didn't mention this because I don't think Arya would care whether or not he had joined the Brotherhood, she would demand he come with her either way.**

**And PottedLilies, the Gendry chapter is happening soon! I think one more and then we'll get to him.**

**Quick reminder that Arya is betrothed to Elmar Frey, though she does not know.**

**Oh, and I know Mikken is supposed to be at Winterfell (and dead, I assume) but whatever. I wanted someone familiar.**

**Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed. It always nice to hear your feedback!**

Arya was placed back down on the ground as hooves approached. Though, Robb kept her close into his side, a protective arm around her shoulders.

As Harwin and Gendry dismounted from their horses, she wiped away the tears with a smile on her face, happiness overriding her embarrassment.

"Harwin, it is always good to see you," Robb said.

"The feeling is mutual, your grace," Harwin said with a bow of his head.

Your grace? It sounded so strange.

Robb turned to Gendry with a gracious smile. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met."

Arya could see Gendry was nervous, but he hid it well enough that perhaps she was the only who noticed. He made a similar bow to Harwin's. It was weird to see him acting like that towards her brother. It was just Robb, after all. "Gendry, your grace," he introduced himself.

"Gendry has been travelling with me since I escaped King's Landing." Arya struggled to find the right thing to say. Gendry had asked her not say anything about their relationship. She agreed, mostly because she had her own issues about her mother. But how long could it really last? They would find out. "He has helped me through so much," Arya settled on. "He's a blacksmith. A good one, too. I'm sure Mikken could use the help."

Arya bit her lip as Robb looked over Gendry. "Aye. I'm sure he could." Robb outstretched his hand for Gendry to take. "Welcome, Gendry," her brother said as they shook hands. "Any friend of Arya's is a friend of mine."

Arya felt a flood of relief wash over her.

"Now for the ransom," Robb announced. "I think we agreed on ten thousand dragons?"

Arya grimaced at that. That was a lot of money.

She just now noticed the three approaching guards from behind her. Had they been there the entire time?

They each handed Harwin a rather large pouch that Arya knew was filled with coin over to Harwin. Ten thousand dragons worth.

"If you change your mind your mind about the Brotherhood, you always have a place with us, Harwin."

"Thank you, your grace, but I have taken an oath." Harwin turned to her and Gendry. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

Arya surprised herself by hugging Harwin. The only people she hugged were blood relatives and Gendry. Yoren, too, if that counted, when he had shielded her from the sight of her father's beheading and she had just needed something to hold onto.

"Thank you for bringing me back," she said as she pulled away. "Though, I could have done without the kidnapping."

He chuckled. "Never getting passed that, are you?"

"Never," she smiled, returning to her place by Robb's side.

"Sorry to see you go, lad," Harwin told Gendry as they shook hands. "You would have been a good addition to our group."

"Thank you. I appreciate the offer."

"It still stands."

Gendry nodded, but Arya wasn't worried anymore about him leaving. He said he loved her, why would he go?

Harwin got back up on his horse. "Until we meet again." And then he was riding away.

Two of the guards took the reins of both Arya and Gendry's horses, and began to lead them back to the castle. Arya had assumed they would go back with Harwin, but how would that work?

Robb, Arya and Gendry followed close behind the guards, and for the first time Arya realized her mother wasn't there. "Why didn't Mother come meet us?"

Robb looked conflicted, and she could tell he was dreading telling her something.

Arya stopped dead in her tracks. Everyone turned around to look at her, quizzical looks referring to her sudden halt. "Is she… dead?" she asked, the last word barely a whisper.

"What? No. She's safe, here in Riverrun."

"Then why—"

"A lot of things have happened. And we can catch up on it all tomorrow, but today you should rest. You must be tired."

Arya could tell she wasn't going to get anything else out of him so she continued the walk.

Arya occasionally let her fingers brush against Gendry's as they moved forward, wishing she could hold his hand properly. She was beginning to realize keeping their relationship hidden would not be easy.

Arya looked over the camp as they approached it. There must have been hundreds of tents and hundreds of people.

"How many?" Arya asked Robb.

"We have a little over twenty thousand men."

Arya did not see twenty thousand men, but she wasn't about to start counting.

As they weaved their way through the tents, one man shouted out to everyone. "The princess has returned!"

"Princess!" others called out to her.

_Princess? _Arya could not be a princess. But she was, wasn't she? She hadn't really thought about it.

Arya was shocked as every man as far as she could see got down onto their knees. On her left and right, behind and in front, all the way down to the river. They all bowed to her. There were so many.

She felt she should say something. "I-" her small voice was cut off by her brother grabbing her from the back of her legs, just above her knees, and lifted her up so she was almost sitting on his shoulder.

"I thank you," Arya started, forcing her voice to be strong. "For fighting for my family. For justice. My father's justice. And for our home." She was gaining confidence with every word. "For the North!"

One of the men stood and lifted his sword high in the air. "For the North!"

Others joined in, and soon everyone had risen from the ground and chanted, "For the North!"

Arya took out her own sword, which on Harwin's suggestion she had named Fang, and raised it up to the sky, an exhilarated smile spread across her face.

* * *

Robb had been right. She was tired.

As soon as Arya was shown to her room in the castle itself, she stripped and then practically collapsed into her bed. Who cared if it was still daylight?

She felt as if she could finally relax and let go of the tension she had been holding onto since her father's death. She was with her family, now.

Sleep came easy.

They were in the godswood at Winterfell, underneath the rustling red leaves of the ancient heart tree. Gendry sat with his back against the tree and Arya straddled his lap, her eyes closed and neck leaned back as he placed gentle kisses down her neck. Arya's skin tingled where his hands slipped underneath her shirt to trail up her sides.

He suddenly flipped them so she was lying with her back against the grass. Arya could see the love in his eyes as he brushed her hair out of her face, his thumb softly caressing her cheek. She closed her eyes again as he dipped down.

As soon as his lips brushed hers, he was gone. Arya opened her eyes to see that the warm, sunny day at Winterfell was gone, and replaced it was a chilly night at Harrenhal. She was in the pen, lying in the mud, watching as Gendry was dragged into a chair a few feet from The Tickler.

Arya gawked as an enormous lion stalked towards Gendry.

"No!" she screamed, struggling to get up from the ground, but she started to sink further into the deep mud. Tears sprung in her eyes as she whispered, "No."  
She could only watch as the lion raised it paw, sharp claws seeming to gleam in the moonlight, and dug it deep into Gendry's stomach.

Arya woke, panting with beads of sweat on her forehead. She calmed considerably at she came to her surroundings. It was dark outside, but she could see the curtains swaying in the wind, the shape of the dresser and mirror in the far corner, and of course, Nymeria's sleeping form at the foot of her bed.

Arya slipped out from under her furs, careful not wake her bedmate. She went over to the dresser and pulled out some white linen thing and dropped it over her head. She saw it barely brushed her knees. It was also surprisingly and pleasantly soft against her skin.

She made her way over to the door, opening it as quietly as possible. Gendry was just across the hall. It would be easy to sneak over to him.  
Two guards stood on the other side of the door, turning to face her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Your brother has asked us to keep you safe," one explained. "Is everything okay, princess?"

Dammit, Robb. "Er, yes. I'm having trouble sleeping," she covered. "Could you get me some tea?"

"Of course."

Arya stood there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for them to leave. When she realized they weren't going to, she sighed. "Never mind the tea," she told them before shutting the door in their faces and crawling back into her bed.

* * *

Arya gave up on sleep at the first sign of sunlight. Instead, she soaked in the bath until the sun had fully risen. She searched her dresser for something bearable to wear, and much to her delight there were a few pairs of pants amongst the dresses.

And then she was on her way to breakfast. She barely stopped herself from snapping at the two guards as they followed her. It had been a year since someone had followed her this way, and gods, was it infuriating.

She forced them to wait outside the door while she joined her brother. Though, she had allowed Nymeria come in with her.

"The guards are a little much, Robb," Arya told him, as she sat down at the small table, eyeing all the foods on the table. There was an assortment of fruit, some bacon, hard boiled eggs, and lastly, her favorite breakfast food. "Blueberry pancakes?"

"Yes, I thought you probably haven't had them in a while."

Arya smiled as she jabbed her fork into three at a time and placed them onto her plate. "Thank you, but let's not get off point here. Must they follow me everywhere?"

"I'm only trying to keep you safe."

"From who?" Arya said, her mouth full of pancake, causing Robb to smile. "Our own men?"

"I just got you back," he said, sullen. "I don't want you to disappear again."

Arya softened. "I won't." She decided to change the subject. "What's going on with Mother?"

"Our grandfather is dying. She hasn't left his side."

"Oh," she said, surprised. Arya did not know Hoster Tully, but she was sure her mother loved him.

"There is more."

"More?"

"Yes," Robb said, looking uneasy. "I sort of… arrested her."

Arrested? "_What? _Why?"

"We had the Kingslayer. Mother sent him off with a knight from Renly's Rainbow Guard to King's Landing in hopes of exchanging him for you and Sansa."

"You thought I was in King's Landing?"

"For a time. If they lied about you, who's to say they aren't lying about Sansa, too?"

"The last I saw her she was there," Arya told him. The day he died she was there… "I heard that she was there during the Battle at Blackwater."

"From who?"

"From someone," she said, making it clear that was all she was saying. "Can we get back to the part where you arrested our mother?"

"We needed him, and she let him go without even talking to me about it."

"She was trying to get her daughters back."

"I know. But I can't just let her walk free. What will the men do if I let treason go unacknowledged?"

Arya bit her lip. "She's our mother, Robb."

"I know."

Arya once again felt the need to change the subject. "You grew a beard."

"Yes," Robb smiled, and stroked his new facial hair. "And I am not the only one with changed hair."

Ah, yes, the hack job, courtesy of Yoren. "Yeah, not exactly my decision." Arya could see he was about to start asking questions. "When did you last hear from Jon?"

"Jon?"

"Yes, our brother. Joined the Night's Watch? Has a white direwolf? Ringing any bells here?"

"I haven't heard from him."

"At all?"

"At all."

That can't be good. "Did you write to him?"

"No," he answered without meeting her eyes, sheepish.

Arya shook her head in disapproval and swiped a piece of bacon. "I'll write him."

She had been focusing on her pancakes for a while, enjoying the familiar flavor, when she felt his eyes on her. She looked over to her staring brother and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Arya, where have you been?"

Her face fell. She was hoping to put this off a little longer. But she reluctantly began to tell her story.

She certainly had not intended to tell him about the stable boy she killed. Or that she had been there when their father died and how the sound of the sword slicing through his neck still haunted her to this day. She didn't mean to sound so emotional as she recounted the events of the battle at the abandoned town, where Yoren and so many others died.

She told him about the pens at Harrenhal, and how helpless and terrified she had felt as she watched so many be tortured to death. She didn't mean to start crying as she told him that Gendry had almost suffered that fate.

But it all just came flowing out.

Arya was successful in leaving out some details. She did not tell him about Jaqen H'gar or the lives she gave back to the Red God. She also did not mention Gendry's suspected parentage, nor that Joffrey had tried to arrest him. That was not for her to tell.

"The Brotherhood found us on our way here," she finished, muffled by his chest. When she had started crying, he had pulled her out of her chair and over to him, cradling her into his arms.

"I'm so sorry for what you've been through."

"What will Mother say? I don't even know how many I've killed, Robb. I—"

"Listen," he interrupted, pulling her back a bit so they could see each other's faces. "You did what you had to do. We've both done what we've had to do. She loves us no matter what."

Arya nodded, taking in the words. She loves us no matter what, she repeats silently.

Robb and Arya turned to look at the door as they heard it open. Gendry entered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Robb smiled. "I'm glad you could come."

Arya wore her own smile as she went back to her own chair, glad to see him and her brother getting along. "Did you sleep okay?" she asked Gendry as he sat beside her.

"Not great," he said, meeting her eyes.

"Me either," Arya gave him a knowing grin.

Their moment was interrupted when she realized the curious look Robb was giving them. Arya quickly went back to her food, suddenly finding it very interesting.

"There was something else I wanted to tell you," Robb started. "There will be a feast tonight in your honor."

Arya groaned. "I don't need a feast. I don't need to be forced into some frilly dress and have what hair I have pulled and tugged into some elaborate braid. And I certainly don't need to be passed around on the dance floor by drunken strangers."

"You don't have to dance with them. Come on, please? It would lift their spirits, give them an excuse to drink and have some fun."

Arya had promised herself she would help with the war in what way she could. What if this was the way? "Fine, but Gendry comes." She turned to him, it occurring to her that he might not want to come. "If you want, I mean."

Gendry nodded in agreement before taking a drink from his cup.

"Of course he can come," Robb said. "It was my intention to invite him."

The doors opened once more. This time a woman entered. She had her brown hair pulled back into a braid, but some stray curls around her face had fallen loose. She came over to Robb wearing a sweet smile and gently placed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down next to him.

What in the seven hells?

"Jeyne, this is my sister Arya and her friend Gendry. And this is my wife—"

It was a good thing Arya had not been drinking anything, as it would have sprayed all over the place. "_Wife_?" she said a little louder than she intended.

"Er, yes. This is Jeyne of House Westerling."

"I am glad to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you."

"I-" Arya didn't know what she was supposed to say. "I hope it was only good things. I, um, how did this come about?"

She was surprised to see her brother was blushing.

"At the Crag," Jeyne spoke up. "Robb was wounded by an arrow. I was his nurse."

Arya thought she must have done more than nursing. "I'm so happy for the both of you."

Arya did not know if she really was, though. She didn't know this Jeyne, or how Robb felt about her. It just seemed like the right thing to say. Arya thought it was only fair to try and get to know Jeyne better.

"I have a council meeting to get to," Robb announced, standing from his seat. "I'll see all of you later tonight at the feast. Humor me with the guards, Arya, please?"

She reluctantly nodded her head before watching him leave.

"I should be going, too," Jeyne said, getting up from her own seat. "I'm already late."

"For what?"

"I've been helping the maester with the wounded. So many still need help. But tonight, I would like the chance to talk and get to know each other."

"Yes, that sounds nice."

"Okay, I'll see you then." She turned to Gendry with a smile that reminded Arya of Sansa, so proper and gracious. "You, too, Gendry" And then she left.

"I was not expecting that," Arya told Gendry.

"I could tell." Gendry laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face."

"What look?"

"It was very similar to the one you had when Beric rose from the dead."

Arya rolled her eyes, then spied a grape from the bowl of assorted fruit and went to grab it. She threw it with perfect aim, hitting him right between the eyes.

"Hey!"

She only smiled with satisfaction at his exclamation of displeasure.

* * *

Riverrun's godswood was not as nearly as beautiful as the one in Winterfell. It was not as big either, and it did not have a weirwood like most godswoods in the South. But it still reminded Arya of home.

Gendry and Arya were alone, even Nymeria had run off to chase a rabbit or some other.

Arya had asked her guards, who she knew now to be Lew and Will, to wait for her outside the wood. They obeyed, but she could tell they were reluctant to let her disappear into the trees with some boy they did not know.

"Dead," Arya exclaimed triumphantly.

The wooden play sword Arya had borrowed from the armory was pointed right at Gendry's heart. His own sword lay on the ground from when she had disarmed him moments ago.

"If you would stand sideways like I'm always telling you, you might actually stand a chance."

"Hey," he said while bending down to retrieve the sword. "I've beaten you twice."

"Twice out of how many times? Thirty?"

"Yes." Gendry outstretched his sword and took her advice by standing sideways. "And I'm about to make it three out of thirty-one."

She laughed as she assumed a similar position.

He blocked and dodged each of her blows, and Arya was regretting sharing her technique.

They circled each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. Arya noticed his eyes had focused on her neck, but she soon learned it had been a trap. Instead of her neck, Gendry went to slice at her hip, a move Arya narrowly avoided by jumping out of the way. During this, she accidently walked back into a tree and became cornered by Gendry.

His sword finally came to her neck, stopping just before it actually made contact. "Dead."

The smirk he wore was infuriating, so she swung her foot against his leg, sending him crashing towards the ground. He grabbed her wrist just in time to bring her down with him.

Gendry laughed as she fell atop of him.

"You're an idiot," she smiled before bringing her lips down to his.

As their tongues melded, Gendry flipped them over. Arya sighed happily as he began to trail lazy kisses along her jaw and down her neck. "I had a dream last night that started much like this." She frowned as remembered the lion's sharp claws. "Though it didn't end as nice."

He stopped to look at her. "What happened?"

Should she tell him? "You died," she said somewhat reluctantly, complete with a tinge of fear.

He must have sensed this for he answered with, "I'm not going to die."

"Ah," Arya grinned. "Famous last words."

"I'm serious."

"I know. It was just a dream," she assured him. "Kiss me."

"As m'lady commands," he smiled as he leaned in to do as she bid.

Arya let the nickname pass for once, too eager for his lips to complain. And perhaps it wasn't too bad to hear "m'lady" after all this "my princess"-ing.

The sound of feet crunching leaves startled them. She hastily pushed him off of her and got into a sitting position, her back leaning against the tree. Gendry was doing the same as the interruption revealed itself to be Lew.

"His Grace has asked me to remind you that you should be getting back to the castle soon to get ready for the feast."

Arya knew Robb's true meaning was "you better not be late for your own damn feast". She did not blame him. She had a bit of a reputation in Winterfell for showing up late at events, or just skipping them entirely.

"Okay." Arya stood up from the ground. She turned to Gendry before leaving. "I'll see you there?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

The dress wasn't terrible. Arya had to admit at least that much as she inspected her reflection in the full length mirror.

The fabric was sheer, layered over and over again until you could no longer see through it. It was cinched at the small of her waist by a thick, silver and metal belt that had been molded and carved into a floral pattern. Arya thought this caused it to flow off her body nicely, giving the illusion of fuller hips.

It was sleeveless but made up for it in its high neckline, settling just under her collar bone. Each strap had been kept together by a silver clasp that matched the belt. The metal felt cool on her shoulders.

Arya thought the best part was the color. It was light blue, though closer to grey, which brought out her eyes.

"A dress fit for a princess," her handmaiden told her as she finished the small braid, pinning it loosely just behind her ear. The girl went over to her left to begin the second braid on the other side.

The dress was fit for a princess. But Arya could not be a princess.

Sansa should be there to wear this dress. Sansa was the one that knew how to do this kind of thing. She knew how to look pretty and smile, and say all the right things.

Arya was awkward and brash; often saying what was on her mind before thinking it through. She had no idea how she was to "lift their spirits". That was not her.

"Are you okay, princess?"

There was that word, again. _Princess_. It seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Call me Arya, please." She hadn't meant for the "please" to sound so desperate.

* * *

Arya walked down the hall alone. She could already hear the loud laughter and music mingling behind the large doors. She fidgeted with the skirt of her dress nervously. Just walk in, Arya, she silently tells herself. It's easy.

"Arya?"

She spun around at Gendry's voice. She saw he had also been given new clothes. He looked nice in them. But he always looked nice to her.

He approached her as if in a trace. "You look really… really beautiful." She could tell that he meant it by the way he looked at her. "Not that you don't always—because you do. I was just—"

The corners of Arya's lips quirked up, amused at his ramblings. "Relax," she told him. "I knew what you meant."

"Are you okay?"

He always seemed to know. It's like he had a sixth sense. "I-I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?"

"_This. _Being a princess. I wasn't good at being a lady and this is like being the lady of all ladies. And this belt is really constricting!" she finished with a huff.

"Yeah, is that actual metal?"

"Yes, right! I'm glad someone else thought that was weird." Arya sighed before continuing, "It's just Sansa should be here to do this. She would have an idea of what the hell she was doing."

"Arya, are you completely forgetting yesterday?"

"When they bowed to me? They probably think they are required-"

"No, I was referring to the part where you gave a speech that encouraged hundreds of people to fight for you. If that isn't what a princess does, then what is?"

He had a point, she realized as she bit her lip. "Will you sit with me?"

"I shouldn't…"

"Please?" She reached out her hand to his, letting their fingers thread together.

Arya knew she had him. "Okay."

They walked together, hand in hand, to the feast.

As the doors opened, Arya and Gendry sadly untangled their fingers before anyone could notice. The room went silent at their entrance, every eye on them.

"To the princess!" Robb exclaimed, raising his cup.

* * *

The feast was going well. There had only been one alcohol induced fight so far, and that had quickly been handled by Robb without casualties or even serious injuries.

Much to Arya's contentment, Gendry had made good on his promise by sitting with her, and even went as far to hold her hand under the table.

After some conversation with Jeyne Westerling, Arya decided she liked her, mostly because there wasn't a reason not to. She was nice and always saying the right thing, which would have reminded Arya of Sansa a little too much, but men kept coming up to their table to thank Jeyne for being their nurse. And she found it was difficult to be annoyed at someone while you listened to stories of how they had saved so many lives. And besides, Sansa could never be a nurse like Jeyne, with the whole amputating limbs thing and all.

Arya had been surprised by the attention she received. She had expected a few men to ask her dance, but definitely not as many that did. Anytime someone asked her dance she refused as politely as she could manage.

Though, she accepted a dance from a few men she recognized from Winterfell. But, she had ulterior motives…

"You're so funny," Arya pretended to laugh at his joke. "So, you've heard about this business with my mother, haven't you?"

"Ah, yesss," Tim slurred. "Such a terrible circum-circumstance—"

"Have you heard anything about where she's being held?"

"Somewhere in the castle, I ass-assume. Wherever her father is, most like."

"Is he with the maester, in his room, or where?"

"Errrr, umm… "

Arya leaned in with interest. "Yes?"

"You have pretty eyes."

She rolled her "pretty eyes". He was useless.

Gendry suddenly appeared at their side. "Can I cut in?"

Her current dance partner seemed ready to protest, so she spoke up before he could, eager to get away from him. "Yes, thank you."

Tim stumbled off, mumbling something about another drink while Arya put her hands on Gendry's shoulders and he put his hers along her waist.

She could tell his shoulders were stiff. "Why are you so tense?"

"I don't like him."

"You don't even know him."

"I don't need to."

"Okay," she surrendered, letting her hand drift down his arm and resting her head on his chest. He seemed to relax at that.

They swayed gently to the sweet, soft music, and Arya began to remember that night at Acorn Hall. They had been dancing just like this. That was the moment she finally realized her feelings for him.

Arya still hadn't told him she loved him. She didn't know how. Was this a good moment? Was this the right way?

She lifted her head to look at him. "I—"

She was interrupted by her brother. "Mind if I borrow her?"

"Hey, I'm right here and very capable of speaking for myself."

Robb put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. _Arya_, would you mind if I borrowed you?"

Actually, yes. She had been about to do something monumental. But what excuse could she really give? "Okay." She turned to Gendry. "I'll find you later?"

Gendry nodded before walking away, while Robb and Arya adjusted into their own dancing position.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Hmmm…I don't think so," Arya said, looking up in fake contemplation. "You better hurry up, it's getting late and you have to fulfill your brotherly duty before the night ends."

"Consider it fulfilled."

"Thank you."

"Gendry is also looking particularly handsome tonight as well, don't you think?"

What? Arya blinked in confusion. "I suppose…? Why? Are you interested in him?" she joked.

"Are you?"

Arya opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say.

Robb took that as answer enough. "You're in love," his voice soft, almost sad.

It wasn't a question, so she didn't bother to deny it. "How did you know?"

"You both light up as soon as the other walks into the room. And the way you look at each other, it's like you're in awe by the fact that you just get to _exist _with one another. Sometimes our parents looked at each other that way."

Arya remembered the look he was referring to. She had seen it between her mother and father many times, so full of love…

"Also, Gendry is not good at hiding his jealousy. Every time you danced with someone else he just stared at you, completely stiff. At one point, I thought he was going to hit poor Tim."

So that was why he didn't like him.

"Arya, there's something I have to tell you-"

"I know, I know. He's lowborn. A smith."

"That-" he started.

"But I don't care," she continued over him. "He makes me happy. He makes me feel—I can't explain it. But you know, Robb, don't you? With Jeyne?"  
"I don't," he said sadly. "I hope I can feel the same way someday."

"Why are you with her, then?"

"She... comforted me when I found about Bran and Rickon. I couldn't dishonor her. I do care for her, don't get me wrong. She's kind, and pretty, and I'm happy when I'm with her. I'm just not in love with her, not yet anyways."

Arya nodded, though perhaps she didn't understand completely. She had always thought the values and traditions of Westeros were odd. Why marry for an alliance? Why was it a stain on your honor to lie with someone? Especially if you loved that someone?

She thinks maybe Robb's main concern had been that Jeyne could have had a child. And Arya could agree that it would not be honorable to leave your baby and his mother to fend for themselves, and that was why she told him what she did.

"Father would be proud of you, you know. For Jeyne, and for the war, all of it. He would be proud."

She saw his eyes start to water, and he pulled her close to him and let his chin rest on the top of her head.

"I really missed you, little sister," he whispered to her.

* * *

The door to her room swung open, and in they came, tangled together, lips clashing and hands wandering.

When Robb had finally retired for the night, Arya took that as the okay that she too could leave the feast.

The music and drunken shouts still lingered all the way to her chambers.

Her guards had been too drunk to notice her slip away, truly _everyone _was too drunk to notice her slip away.

Arya barely heard the door shut in the midst of his feverish kisses. Gendry must have had somehow managed to close it, though how she did not know, as both of his hands were currently occupied.

While Gendry lifted her up, Arya instinctively wrapped her legs around him and found he was hard against her. She swore he actually growled as he backed her up against the wall.

Arya thought this was reminiscent of that day he gave her Fang. Nothing like this had happened since then, nothing this desperate, hungry, and passionate. He hadn't given into her this much, and Arya herself had been holding back per his request.

She knew soon enough he would pull back and say in the pained voice of his that they couldn't continue. Arya hoped it wouldn't be _too _soon, but then again, anytime would feel too soon.

She moaned as his lips travelled down her neck, gently sucking at her pulse point. Arya wriggled against him, desperate for some form of friction.

She sighed in disappointment as he stopped working at her neck and put some distance between them, though he had not put her back on the floor yet, most likely because she had not moved her legs from their place around his waist. "Don't, please. Gendry, I need…" she trailed off, surprised at herself for outright begging him, but then she found she did not care. Her body was practically screaming for relief. "Please, Gendry."

He didn't say anything, but only began to carry her over to the bed. He laid her down softly on the mattress as Arya held her breath in anticipation.  
He crawled atop of her, hovering over her momentarily, searching her eyes, before placing a tender kiss on her swollen lips. He trailed down her neck with equal softness, stopping as he reached the fabric of her dress. He undid the clasps on the straps and moved the dress off her shoulders to reveal her breasts, letting the fabric bunch at her belt.

Arya was certain he could hear her heart, beating louder and faster than she thought possible. She felt suddenly self-conscience under his gaze, having the urge to cover up, but quickly forgot as he dipped down to kiss down her chest, his tongue briefly flicking over her nipple, causing Arya's breath to hitch.  
His lips continued down her stomach until he once again ran into her dress. She felt his hand slip underneath her skirts, parting her legs a little further before running up her thigh.

As she felt his thumb brush against her, Arya found she was very happy the dress did not allow any underthings. She gasped and threw her head back as he slid a finger inside of her.

Her back arched when he added another, slowly moving in and out of her. Arya's hands twisted with the furs on her bed. She could feel herself building up to something. "Gendry, please."

She felt him moving the dress further up her legs, and she looked down to see him lowering his mouth to her. His tongue ran over an area that seemed to her to be the true source of all pleasure, and that was it for her.

Arya had never felt something so intense, something so explosive and just plain amazing. When her pleasure filled cries finally ceased, Arya closed her eyes, waiting to come down from this high. She barely even felt Gendry placing kisses back up her stomach all the way up to her neck.

"I take it that was good then?"

She opened her eyes to see Gendry above her, grinning. "Better than good," she said with her own smile.

Arya leaned in to meet his lips and flipped them over, their lips never parting as she pushed him onto the bed. She pushed his shirt up and Arya had to pull back from their kiss to get it all the way off.

She let her hands run over his well-muscled chest that seemed to tense underneath her touch.

Arya began to unlace his pants when he abruptly sat up and grabbed her hands.

"You don't have to."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Of course I don't _have _to, stupid. I want to."

He looked at her for a moment before relenting, laying back down on the bed. She continued her work with the laces, finally undoing them and pulling him out.  
He hissed as she began to slowly stroke from base to tip. Arya didn't know exactly what she was doing, but the sounds he was making was encouraging.  
Remembering how she had finished, she brought her mouth down onto him. Gendry moaned as she slid her lips farther onto him. What she couldn't reach, she continued to work with her hand. On the second time she moved her mouth down his length, she felt him find his release, her name a whisper on his lips.  
She knew this would happen, but it still caught her by surprise. She swallowed as best as she could, but some managed to get onto her lips.

Arya slid off of him and swiped her thumb against her bottom lip. She then proceeded to move up the bed to hover over his face, much like he had with her. He had a silly grin plastered on his face.

"I take it that was good then?" Arya laughed as she repeated his words.

"Better than good."

Arya sighed contentedly as she curled into his chest. One of his hands threaded through her hair while the other traced patterns on her side.

"I really love you, you know."

Arya could say it, now. "And I love you."


	9. The Fair Maidens and Their Knights

**AN: I think this may be like a day late and for that I'm sorry. Thanks to all who reviewed/followed/favorited! Now, onto the story...**

The next morning, Arya had never felt so at ease, so blissful and warm. Rays of sunshine streamed into her room, bathing her almost glowing skin.

Their clothes were scattered about the floor, having completely shredding them in the beginnings of round two, which they were currently in the midst of.

Her knee was partially drawn up, held in place by his calloused hand. Arya's breath grew ragged with anticipation as she watched Gendry's lips trail down her thigh, placing teasing kisses on his way.

Just as his lips finally brushed the wetness waiting for him, a knock at the door startled them. Gendry froze while Arya reacted, kicking him off the bed, causing a rather loud thump as he fell to the floor.

"Is everything okay?" the voice behind the door asked.

It was Robb. "Yes! Don't come in. I-I'm not decent." Arya reached off of the bed to grab Gendry's clothes. She threw them to a very panicked Gendry who was still recovering from his fall. "Get under the bed," she ordered in a whisper.

"Can I come in yet? It's just me."

Arya laid back onto the bed, pulling the furs up to her chest. She quickly checked to make sure Gendry was hidden. "Yes, come in."

Robb entered through the door while Arya tried to seem as nonchalant as possible. "Good morning," she said with a forced a smile.

"I thought we could have breakfast with Mother. I know you've been anxious to see her."

"I didn't know this was allowed?"

"It is now."

"Okay, I just have to get dressed."

"I'll meet you outside," he told her, turning to leave.

As the door closed, Arya let out a sigh of relief.

Gendry scrambled out from underneath the bed. "We need to be more careful," he said as began to dress.

"You're not wrong," she agreed.

Arya abruptly flew out of the bed and over to her dresser, searching for an acceptable dress. Something that wouldn't make her miserable and something that would please her mother.

After much fretting, she found one that was simple enough. It was dark green, and with little detailing, which she found appealing. Arya slipped it on and began to hurriedly fumble with the laces across her chest. Gendry's hands were suddenly over hers, stopping her from continuing. He began to tie up the laces himself.

"Just breathe," he said, his voice soothing. "It's going to be fine."

Arya nodded and took a great intake of air at his advice. "I'm actually going to see her," she said, a small smile creeping its way onto her lips.

Gendry smiled back and bent down to pick up her boots from their place beside the dresser. He handed them to her. "Not if you don't actually leave."

Arya broke into a full on smile and went on one foot, doing something that resembled a sort of dance to tug on her boot. "If there are guards outside, they'll follow me. You should probably wait a minute before leaving." As she finished with the second shoe, she looked back up at him and saw the peculiar look he was giving her. "What?"

In response, he brought his lips down to hers, his hands settling on her hips as he pulled her closer. "I love you."

Arya searched his eyes, and decided that this must have been look Robb had been telling her about. Did she have that look?

"I love you, too."

They both leaned in. As their kiss deepened, Arya clutched at his shirt while one of his hands tangled with her hair. If they didn't stop soon, Arya knew they never would.

Gendry seemed to know the same thing. He pulled back from her, strained. "They're waiting for you."

She nodded, reluctantly untangling herself from him.

Arya gave him one last smile before heading out of the door.  
She was finally going to see her mother.

* * *

On the walk to breakfast, Arya realized it was getting colder despite the sunny day they were having. Winter is coming, she thought to herself. If they were still at war when winter came…

"You should fix your hair."

Robb's voice broke her out of thoughts. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's not covering your hickey."

He motioned to her neck, pointing to where she assumed the mark was. She slapped his hand away, blushing, and carefully repositioned her hair. Gendry would die for this. "I, um—"

"It's not my business," he interrupted. "Though I doubt Mother will share that opinion." He paused momentarily and she could tell he was battling something internally. "Arya, there are some things I have to tell you."

She sensed that this would not be good news. "Okay…" she trailed off uneasily.

"When we needed to cross at the Twins for the Battle of the Greenfork, I had to make a deal with Walder Frey to let us pass."

"What kind of deal?"

"I promised to marry one of his daughters—"

"But you married Jeyne."

"Yes, in my place our uncle will marry one of them."

"Edmure?" Arya had met her uncle at the feast the previous night, along with her mother's uncle Blackfish. She hadn't formed her opinion of them yet, for they barely spoke five words to her. "And the Freys are fine with this? Everyone knows they are… proud," she finished after struggling to find the right word. "Walder was expecting his daughter to become a queen, not the lady of Riverrun."

"That is why we must be careful not to insult them," Robb told her. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Arya, I am—"

"Arya!"

"Mother," she whispered, turning towards the voice. Her mother was standing in the opening of a tent a little ways away, smiling with tears streaming down her face.

Arya's feet moved on their own will, breaking into a run. It was her mother.

As she was finally wrapped in a familiar embrace, they both fell to their knees and Arya's own tears began to fall. Gods, it had been too long.

"My sweet child," her mother whispered in her hair. "You've come back to me."

Arya pulled back slightly to see as she heard the tent flap open. Robb entered, accompanied by Blackfish and Edmure, who both seemed in great emotional distress.

"I'm so sorry, Mother," Robb spoke gently. "Grandfather has died."

* * *

As Arya entered the forge, she immediately undid the tie of her cloak, letting it slide off her shoulders.

It was always warm in the forge. Like Gendry, she mused. Gendry was always warm.

She hopped up on to the table and laid the cloak beside her. She noticed Mikken stifling a grumble from across the room. She knew he thought her a distraction, much like Lucan at Harrenhal. But now she was a Stark, and not a common villager, and Mikken could not shoo her away.

"How was the funeral?" Gendry asked, dipping a sword into the water, causing clouds of steam to rise up.

"I think it went okay."

"And what about you? Are you okay?"

"I never knew him," she answered. "My mother loved him, though." Arya paused thoughtfully. "She has lost so many, Gendry. Her husband, her sons, and now her father. And all in too little time."

"Is there ever a great enough time?"

"I guess not." Arya bit her lip. "I just hope she is okay."

"She will be. She's strong, like you. I can tell."

"What?" Arya panicked. "When did you meet her? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't. I've just seen her walking around."

That had become a recent development. Robb no longer kept their mother locked in her chambers, after much insistence from Arya. She was free to roam Riverrun, with guards, of course. But even Arya had guards.

"And you can tell by the way she walks?"

"Yes," he said a matter-of-factly.

Arya rolled her eyes before continuing. "She's more fish than wolf."

"Maybe she's more wolf than you think."

"Maybe."

Mikken crossed the room over to the door, carrying a box.

"Some of those aren't finished," Gendry told him.

"They look finished to me," he replied, taking a peek inside the box. "And the armory needs them now."

"But—"

"Don't be such a perfectionist. They're fine," he reassured.

Gendry looked ready to protest, but Mikken slipped out of the door before he had the chance.

Arya suddenly became aware that they were alone for the first time since that night. Her eyes wandered down his naked chest, taking in every contour and line of his muscles.

"What?"

She lifted her eyes to meet with his. How many times could he catch her staring?

Arya reached her arm out to him, beckoning him to come to her. He took her hand and made his way over to her.

"What?" he asked again.

Arya answered by bringing their lips together. Her tongue sought entrance from him, which he eagerly granted. Her hand snaked up his neck and into his hair, lightly tugging, causing Gendry to emit a low moan into her mouth. She wrapped her legs around him and drew him closer.

They fell back onto the table, Gendry crawling on top of her. Her hands traveled down to the laces on his pants.

Arya groaned in indignation when he stopped her. "Not this again."

"Mikken could walk in at any second."

"We can go to your room."

Gendry now had his own room in the smithy, and he had been very vocal with Arya about his pleasure of not having to share with Mikken. Robb had offered to let him stay in the castle, but the silly bull wouldn't accept.

"And you don't think he'll know what we're up to? I think it will be pretty obvious," he countered. "And your guards—they're right outside. They'll hear."  
"We'll be quiet," she promised, leaning back into their kiss.

He pulled back. "We weren't last time."

"We will this time." She leaned again, and this time he relented

She could feel him giving in to her as their lips molded to one another. Arya sighed as he butterflied kisses down her neck, but as he gently nipped at the skin there, she pushed him away.

"Don't you dare mark me again, or there will be hell to pay, I swear it to the old gods _and_ the new."

He chuckled and grabbed her off of the table without warning. Arya clung to him with her legs and arms as she was carried into his room, though she trusted he would not let her fall. He closed the door behind him with a nudge from his foot and then set her down onto his bed.

"I won't, trust me," he told her while he moved over her so their faces were aligned. "I have more to lose than you do—my head for example."

"You're hilarious," she said with a roll of her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are we done talking yet?"

"So impatient," he chided teasingly.

His lips went back to work at her neck, his hands untying the laces of her shirt. Arya arched into his touch as he opened up the front of her shirt and cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her hardened nipple. He brought down his mouth to her chest, her skin on fire wherever his lips touched. His hand snaked down her side and slipped underneath her shirt, and rode the fabric up in order to continue his trail of kisses down her stomach.

As he reached her pants, he didn't bother to untie them and instead just pulled them down her hips and off her legs, but Arya still thought it took too long. Perhaps all of those ladies had the right idea with dresses after all…

He started his kisses at her hip bone, and then all the way down to where she wanted him most. Arya gasped and bucked her hips as his tongue flicked over that little bundle of nerves. Her fingers threaded into his hair as he continued to lick, nip, and kiss, leaving her to writhe beneath him.

It wasn't long until she found her release, her back arched practically off the bed and her lip bitten to keep from crying out. Arya thought for sure it would bleed.

She was quick to pull his head back up to her, and meeting his lips for a kiss as she flipped them over.

She dipped into the waist of his pants to take him in her hand. His knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets as she began to slowly move her hand up and down his length.

Arya bent down to let their lips brush, and then continued down his jaw and neck, never ceasing her movements with her hand.

"Arya, please..." he trailed off in a pained tone.

She could tell he was desperate to finish, so feeling merciful she started to kiss down his chest. As she reached his pants, she tugged them down a little further and lowered her mouth onto him. She managed to take him further in without gagging than last time, which seemed to please them both, though perhaps Gendry a little more so.

He came soon enough, with a moan a little too loud for Arya's comfort. What if her guards heard?

She pushed her concerns away as she crawled back on top of him. Gendry had a calm look about him, his eyes closed and his breath beginning to steady. She lowered her lips to his, their tongues meeting briefly, the previous neediness felt before replaced with a soft sweetness.

As they pulled back, Gendry rose his hand to her hair, gently brushing it behind her ear. They stayed like that for a time- just looking into one another's eyes, savoring the moment. Then, Arya settled into his chest with a contented sigh.

She could hear his heartbeat, still in the process of slowing. Arya found it strangely soothing. "We should go back out."

"Yeah."

But they stayed put, no one making a move to get up.

"Have you done this before?" Arya asked curiously while her fingers lightly drew patterns on his chest. "Before me, I mean."

"No, only you."

She isn't about to outright call him a liar, but she thinks that he is too good to not have done this before. And she wasn't oblivious to his good looks. Arya could practically hear Sansa's voice telling her what a pity it was for someone so handsome to be a lowborn bastard. Women had probably thrown themselves at him. "Really?"

"Yes, why do you sound so surprised?"

"I don't know. Someone must have offered."

He did not deny this. "I couldn't have a bastard."

Gods, it was like his mantra. "I know. But you could have done what you do with me."

"I guess it didn't feel right with anyone else." He paused. "And what about you? Have you ever...?"

Arya was tempted to laugh. "I don't think I even so much as looked at a boy before you. I thought it was silly, all the songs about the fair maidens and their knights, the declarations of love and devotion, even if they only met five minutes before, just all of it. But I know now that it's not like that. That's not what real love is."

* * *

After lying in Gendry's bed for a dangerously long time, they finally emerged out of the little room to find that Mikken had yet to return, much to their relief and disappointment, for they could have stayed in bed longer.

Arya settled back into her spot on the table, still finishing up with the laces on her shirt while Gendry went back to his work.

When the door opened, both heads turned to the intruder. It wasn't Mikken like she had expected, but instead her mother. Arya thanked the gods that she had not come in any earlier.

"Robb said you might be here. He wants you to come to the war council meeting."

"What? Why?"

"He said you posed as Tywin Lannister's cupbearer for some time, yes?"

"Yes, but as I've already told him, I didn't overhear anything of value."

"Arya, please just go to the meeting." Her mother finally noticed the other person in the room. "You must be Gendry. Robb told me about you."

Shit. Panic rose within her. What had he told her? She forced herself to speak, trying to sound as casual as possible, but the slight waver in her voice could not be helped. "What did he say?"

"That he's been helping you since you escaped King's Landing." Arya was surprised to see her mother's eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears as she turned to Gendry. "I cannot thank you enough for helping my daughter when I could not. I promise you will always have a place with us, in Riverrun and in Winterfell, once we return."

"Thank you, m'lady." Arya noted he was speaking in that formal tone of his, reserved for her brother and now her mother. "I'm eager to see Winterfell. Arya has told me much about it."

It didn't seem like her mother had heard the words. She was staring quizzically at Gendry.

"Mother?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized as she came out of her trance. "You just look so familiar. Have we met before?"

_Oh. _Arya now understood what had happened. Her mother had known all three Baratheon brothers; of course she thought he looked familiar. Though, Arya doubted she had put the pieces together.

Gendry's eyes flickered to her momentarily before turning back to her mother and replying. "No, m'lady. I don't think so."

Her mother simply smiled and nodded, and then turned back to Arya. "Come along now, daughter. Robb and the others are waiting for you."

Arya hopped down from the table. "I'll see you later, then?" she asked Gendry.

He agreed with a nod, and then Arya and her mother filed out of the forge.

On the walk to the meeting was filled with basic small talk about the weather and such, but it wasn't long until her mother brought up Gendry.

"I swear I've seen him before. His eyes…" she trailed off in thought.

"You probably just saw him walking around. He's been here awhile."

"He was an apprentice in King's Landing, right? Maybe I passed his shop when I came."

"Maybe."

* * *

Arya sat on the dock that was partially submerged by the river, but not so much that she could not dangle her legs off the edge. Nymeria lay on her left, stretched out and appeared to be asleep. She had a book in her lap, a few pieces of parchment on top, and a little bottle of ink with a quill resting inside.

The meeting with her brother had gone as expected. She didn't have any useful information, but the men seemed happy to hear they had Tywin Lannister on his toes. They had forgotten that he was also dealing with two other rebellions, but when she mentioned this they hadn't listened. Idiots.

She took the quill from the bottle and began to write.

_Jon,_

_You stupid prick. Robb told me you haven't written. At all. It would be nice if you could let us know that our brother is, you know, alive._

_I'm okay if you were wondering. I am safe in Riverrun with Robb and Mother. Sansa is held captive by the Queen and Joffrey. But perhaps we'll get her back. Mother is attempting to make an exchange for her with the Kingslayer, so…_

_You might already know this, but I feel I must tell you in case you didn't hear. Winterfell was sacked by iron men. And Bran and Rickon, they are dead by the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Before you do something stupid, we have had word that the Boltons have captured him. Robb intends to swing the sword himself._

_There is something else. I lost Needle. I'm sorry. It was taken away from me during one of my attempts to return home._  
_I have to thank you for your gift. You inadvertently saved my life, among others._

_I miss you. And write me a damn letter._

_Arya_

When she finished signing her name, someone sat down beside her. It was Gendry.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to my idiot brother on the Wall, who's apparently too busy freezing his arse off to let me know he's alive."

"If he wasn't, the Night's Watch would let you know."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Is that your name?" He gestured to the word that was indeed her name.

Despite herself, Arya was surprised. She gave herself a mental slap. Of course, he couldn't read. Why would she think otherwise? "Yes," she confirmed. "Do you know how to write yours?"

Gendry shook his head, so Arya placed her letter on the dock, careful not to set in a puddle or somewhere else it would get ruined.

This revealed the fresh paper underneath her letter. She dipped her quill into the ink and began to write out Gendry's name. "Gendry," she spoke as she wrote.

Without thinking, she began to say "Baratheon" as she wrote the letters "b" and "a". She stopped after that, and looked everywhere but his eyes, unsure of how he would react. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's okay," he interrupted. He paused before he continued. "The way your mother looked at me earlier… I didn't believe you, but then…"

"She doesn't know. She thinks she saw you in passing in King's Landing or something."

There was a long pause, but then Gendry broke it. "Tell me about him."

"About who?"

"Robert. Renly. Stannis. All of them. Every Baratheon you've ever met."

"I never met Stannis. I could tell you some of his war stories if you want. But from what I gathered from my father is that he is a very honorable man and that means something from someone like my father." Arya racked her brain to think of something else to say about Stannis. "He has a daughter. I can't remember her name. She is young. Maybe ten, I'm not sure."

Gendry genuinely smiled. "A cousin, then?"

"Yes," she shared his smile. "Renly I have met. He was handsome, had your eyes. People liked him. He was easy to get on with. Very charming, knew all the right things to say."

"Did you like him?"

"I didn't know him that well, but yes."

"Do you think Stannis killed him?"

"It's said that one of his knights killed him." Arya hesitated. "I have also heard some other things…. Stannis apparently has this red priestess by his side. Like Thoros." Arya thought Gendry understood what she was silently telling him by mentioning his name—that perhaps this story was not impossible. They had both seen what this religion could do firsthand. "And some are saying Renly died of some dark magic of hers. Tales of demons and shadow monsters have circled around."

Gendry absorbed this new information and nodded. "And what of Robert?"

Arya didn't want to go down that road. There weren't many nice things to say about him.

"You can tell me. You can tell me that he was an obnoxious drunk who couldn't keep it in his pants. You can tell me all he cared about was drinking, fucking, and maybe hunting, which got him killed and started all this shit in the first place."

"I didn't know him very well. There was more to him, I'm sure. My father loved that man like a brother and there was a reason." There was a silence as Gendry took in her words and then she continued. It was lost on her part why she would even mention it. "He loved my aunt, you know. Lyanna."

"Harwin said you looked like her."

"So I'm so very often told. My father," she smiled, lost in the memory. "He used to say I was wolf-blooded, that I had got it from her."

Gendry looked up in thought, attempting to recount history. "Rhaegar kidnapped her, right? So Robert started the rebellion to get her back?"

She nodded. "But she died anyways."

There was another silence.

"Do you know if there are others?"

"Other what?"

"Bastards."

Arya instinctively flinched. "It's not impossible, I guess. There was Bella, remember?"

He didn't acknowledge what she had told him. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You flinch every time someone says 'bastard'."

She managed not to flinch this time. She hadn't even realized she had been doing it before. "It's a habit. Some… some were not always so nice to Jon. I hated the way people treated him," Arya confessed. "The way they spat out 'bastard' like it was dirt in their mouths. I kicked a knight for that once," Arya told him, smirking at the memory. "Mother didn't stop yelling at me for two whole weeks."

"That sounds like you," Gendry laughed. "Did the knight learn his lesson?"

A proud smile crept its way onto her lips. "He never so much as mentioned Jon to my face again."

Gendry laughed again and she joined in easily.

* * *

"I could come with you," Arya suggested hesitantly.

She was seeing her family off to the Twins for Edmure's wedding. Arya was torn. She wanted to stay at Riverrun with Gendry, but she also did not want to part with her family so soon after just being reunited. If only Gendry could go with her.

"No," Robb answered quickly, and a bit louder than usual. Arya noticed that her mother shot Robb a disapproving look. What was going on? "I just think it's best we have someone looking after Riverrun while we're away."

Arya nodded her head. It made sense, after all. Blackfish was leaving, too. So it would be up to her and Jeyne to keep things in check. But that look her mother had given Robb…

Jeyne ran up to their group then, throwing herself into her husband's arms. "Are you sure I can't come with you?" she asked, voice strained from held back tears.

"I'm sorry, but yes," Robb told her. "We need to be careful not to offend them. I won't be gone long, I promise."

Jeyne nodded and pulled away from their hug, wiping a fallen tear away in attempt to pull herself together. Arya could tell the poor girl was trying to stay strong.

Robb stepped closer to Arya, his hand moving to her cheek and brushing some of the fallen hair there out of her face. "Come here, little sister," he said as pulled her to him.  
Arya buried her face into chest, feeling safe in his arms. Since she had stepped foot in Riverrun, she hadn't felt so safe in what felt like forever, and she knew it had more to do with him than the high castle walls and moat. Would she feel safe when he left?

"Take care of Jeyne for me," he whispered into her ear.

"I will," she promised.

She felt his lips press against the top of her head before he reluctantly pulled away. Her mother hugged her next and Arya took similar comfort in the embrace.

"Please try to stay out of trouble," she told her.

Arya bit back a laugh. "I'll try." But no promises, she added silently to herself.

After a brief and slightly awkward goodbye to her uncle and great uncle, and two last tearful hugs from Jeyne to Robb, they all mounted their horses.

She watched with Jeyne as they disappeared into the horizon. There was strange feeling in her gut, a weird twisting. It was odd, and just plain unnerving.  
Arya shook it off as Jeyne abruptly began to run off towards the others.

"Hey!" she called out as chased after her. "Jeyne, come back!"

She caught up fairly easily. Jeyne was not the fastest runner, and Arya had an advantage by not having to deal with tripping over a dress.

She caught Jeyne's wrist and turned her around. "You won't be able to catch up on foot," Arya told her sister-in-law as she caught her breath. "Look, Jeyne. He will be fine and back home to you before you know it, I promise. But you have to let him go. Okay?"

Jeyne stared at her for a moment, but then finally nodded in agreement.

"Let's go back." Arya gave her a reassuring smile and moved her hand down to hers, squeezing gently. "We can get some tea or some food, wine, whatever, and just take a moment to relax. Yes?"

"Okay," Jeyne said, trying to smile back.

As they began their walk back, Arya could not stop thinking about that odd feeling she had before. Whatever it meant, it could not be good. That much she knew.


	10. Be Together

**AN: This one is a little shorter than usual, but it's also early, so it evens out. Thanks to all the lovely people who reviewed, you guys are too sweet! I really do love hearing from you and it makes me want to write. Also, the usual thank you to the new followers and favoriters! I'm surprised by how many I'm getting. And this is the tenth chapter, so I think we may be halfway done with the story. I have an end point in mind and I think this one will be around twenty chapters.  
And heads up! There will be a Gendry POV chapter next... I'm excited to write it.**

Like every morning since Robb's departure to their uncle's wedding, Arya broke her fast with Jeyne. In fact, she had been doing a lot of things with Jeyne. It was obvious her sister-in-law was on edge, and it seemed that Arya's presence calmed her to some extent. She wasn't sure what had her so anxious. Perhaps she was scared of being alone in Riverrun, surrounded by strange north men that were still new to her. Or maybe she just really missed Robb. It was probably a combination of both.

Arya missed her brother, too. And she had not forgotten the odd feeling from when he had left, whatever that was. But she had been too busy walking on egg shells around Jeyne to lose sleep over it.

Take care of Jeyne for me. That was what Robb had asked of her and that was what she would do. But Arya needed some time to herself, or rather with Gendry. And besides, Jeyne had said she had wanted to go help with the wounded and it had been discovered Arya was hopeless with that after she had tagged along one day. She had always had pitiful needlework skills, and it was just as hard to sew up skin as it was cloth.

"Wait outside for me here, please," she told her two guards as they approached the forge. "Assuming you insist on staying like you always do."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Lew's lips. "You know we must, my princess."

"Gods, would you stop that? I told you to call me Arya!"

"Sorry, my princess," Will chimed in. "But that is something else we must insist on."

Arya ground her teeth in frustration as Lew nodded with affirmation. "Fine! Stay out here," she bit out and turned on her heel to enter the forge. She could hear them chuckling as she slammed the door behind her.

She saw Mikken at the anvil hammering and molding a sword, but Gendry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Gendry?" she questioned.

He stopped his work to reply. "Asleep still, I think."

"Through this?" she asked as Mikken continued to beat the sword, the loud singing of steel and against steel echoing through the room.  
Mikken shrugged. "He's been moping about the place, sleeping a lot. I think it has to do with you not stopping by this past week. You have a fight or something?"

Arya's brows creased. "No."

"He's convinced you're avoiding him. "

"The stupid bull," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not avoiding him. I've just been busy dealing with Jeyne."

"Perhaps you should go be with her now… maybe leave the boy be for a while," Mikken suggested, failing miserable at his attempt to sound casual.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it's just people are talking. About him and you."

"Let them. It's just talk."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if the Frey heard—"

"The Freys?" Arya interrupted. "Why would they care?"

"Because of your betrothal, of course," he told her, looking at her as if she had grown two heads. "To the boy… Elmar, right?"

Her heart fell at his words. The world seemed to stop around her. Betrothal? How could she be promised to someone without her even knowing? Without her consent?

A single tear trailed down her cheek at the thought of Gendry. Gods, Gendry.

"You do not know," he realized.

She suddenly collapsed onto the bench in a heap of sobs. Arya buried her face into her hands, her body racking in time with each sob.

"I am sorry," Mikken's gentle voice told her. She could hear his feet approaching, most likely to come and comfort her.

"He cannot know," she said as she jumped up from the bench. "Promise me you will not tell Gendry."

He hesitated. "I—"

"Promise me!" she demanded.

He stood there, taken aback by the urgency in her tone. But then he nodded. "I promise."

Arya let out a breath she did not she had been holding. Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she wiped the tears away. She had to pull herself together.  
She went to his room. She knew she shouldn't, not with Mikken there watching, but she didn't care at this point.

When she opened the door, she saw Gendry there, asleep on his bed. The sight of him shot a stabbing pain in her heart. He was stretched out on his back, blanket twisted at his waist. The sound of his deep, steady breaths travelled to her across the room.

She closed the door softly behind her, even though he had slept through all of that ruckus before and a door closing wasn't going to wake him.  
She walked to him in a sort of trance, her body working at its own will on instinct. She crawled onto the bed with him, careful not to disturb his sleep. She laid into his side, her head and hand settling onto his chest.

Arya tried to blink back her tears, but one escaped her, falling wet onto his chest.

What was she going to do?

* * *

Arya had not been avoiding Gendry before, but now she was.

When he had finally woken that day to find her in his bed, she had assured him they were fine, that she had not been avoiding him, that Jeyne had needed her. And then she had given him a kiss and left.

She had meant to return the next day, but she was afraid. He already suspected something was bothering with her. He always had a way of sensing these things. And if she went back, he would ask her what was wrong, and Arya wasn't sure she would be able to keep it from him.

"Nymeria, what am I going to do?" she asked as she stroked her companion's fur.

They were together in the godswood, sheltered by the shade of the weirwood's leaves. Arya lay on her back in the soft grass, Nymeria beside her, head resting on her hip.

Part of her screamed for her to run. To just take Gendry and get as far away as possible. Another told her that she could not leave her family, especially when her sister was held hostage. But every part of her being agreed on one thing. She would not marry the Frey boy.

The previous helplessness and complete sadness she had felt before had lessened and become more of a dull, aching pain that seemed to just linger. Anger was the more prominent feeling at the moment.

How could they? They sold her for a bridge! A fucking bridge!

And no one had told her about it. Though she knew now that Robb had tried to tell her a number of times, but never followed through. Was he just completely unable to take some responsibility?

Arya knew Robb did not _want_ her to have to marry someone she didn't love, but thought she had to. Well, he was in for a big surprise because they could have her a sword point at the altar and she would not say the words.

But Arya knew Robb was right. He had married Jeyne and insulted the Freys, and who knows what they would do if she backed out.

How could her brother expect her to do something he could not do himself?

She wondered briefly if Jeyne knew about her betrothal to Elmar. Probably. That only made her angrier.

She had been too caught up in her thoughts to notice that someone had approached. She turned to look at Gendry as he lay down beside her. Guilt settled at the pit of her stomach as she took in his frazzled state. He was falling apart just as much as she was.

"You're avoiding me."

Arya couldn't meet his eyes as she lied. "No, I've just been busy. Jeyne is nervous without Robb. I'm the only thing that seems to calm her down."

He sighed and she risked a look at him. He was looking up at the hovering leaves and sky above, his hand running through his hair.

"Arya, please," he pleaded desperately as he turned back to her. "Just tell me what's wrong."

She bit her lip and stayed silent. This was exactly why she had been avoiding him.

"Did I do something?"

"No."

"Then what?"

She looked away again, her eyes wandering everywhere but him.

"Gods, Arya!" he told her, jumping up from his place on the ground, growing angrier with every passing moment. "I haven't heard from you all week, and I've been in the forge feeling like an idiot, trying to figure out why. Do you know how fucking terrified I've been that you were through with me?"

Arya sat up then, forcing an annoyed Nymeria to get up from her spot. She tried to interrupt to tell him that was not the case, that she loved him, to ask him how he could think that, but he continued over her.

"And now you feed me some bullshit about Jeyne? You are very clearly upset and lying. So just tell me what in seven hells is going on!"

"I can't," she answered, her voice small.

"You can't!" he repeated, followed by a humorless laugh. "You can't," he repeated again, seeming to accept it this time. "Okay, why not?"

Indeed, why not? She was afraid. What if he tried to leave again, to make this easier on her, to not anger the Freys? That sounded like Gendry. Or what if he was angry? What if he blamed her? What if he wished she had let him stay with the Brotherhood when he had told her this would happen?

Tears sprung at her eyes, and Gendry noticed. She could see the regret in his eyes for yelling at her as he knelt down in front of her. His hand went to her cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a fallen tear.

"I'm scared," she admitted meekly.

"Of what?"

"I just love you so much," her voice breaking as she held back a sob. "It hurts, Gendry. I don't understand. It's scary. I don't know what I would do if you left."

"I won't leave."

"You tried once."

"I'm so sorry, Arya. I swear to you, I will never leave you again."

She nodded at the fierceness in his words and let herself be pulled into his chest.

"Please, tell me what caused this," he said into her hair.

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. "Robb. And my mother," she started cautiously. "They promised me to the Frey boy. It was part of the terms so they could cross. My family sold me for a bridge."

She felt him tense underneath her. "When?"

She didn't understand. "When?" her confused voice repeated.

"The wedding. When will they make you marry him?"

Arya pulled back to look at his face, bewildered. "I assume they're waiting for me to come of age. But, Gendry, you can't think I'm actually going to go through with it. They can't force me."

"What are you going to do then? Run away?"

By his voice she could tell he was not serious, that he thought it was absurd to even consider running away, but Arya thought it was not the craziest idea.  
She looked down, playing with the hem of her shirt nervously. "If I did. Run away." She met his eyes as she asked the rest. "Would you come with me?"

Arya held her breath as she waited for his answer. It was almost immediate, but it felt like hours, days, and years to her. "Yes," he breathed out. "But we can't—"

She interrupted him by crashing her lips with his, putting everything and all of her into one simple kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, they remained close, foreheads almost touching and his hand gently cupping her face.

"I know you, Arya," he spoke softly. "You don't want to leave your family."

"How much will I see them once I'm shipped off to the Twins anyway?"

He sighed. "And where are we supposed to go?"

"I don't know. Across the Narrow Sea… to the Free Cities, wherever. I don't care."

"And what are we supposed to do in the Free Cities?"

She didn't know, but she was sure of one thing they would do. "Be together."

And that was enough for the both of them- just to be together.

* * *

The letter had been written. It explained what she was doing and why. It asked them not to come looking for her, that she did not want to be found and would try to send them word that she was safe when she was able. It said that it was best if the Freys thought she had been kidnapped by Gendry so they did not hold a grudge. Arya had been reluctant to add that, to put Gendry at risk, but it had been his idea and had insisted on it. It also said that she was sorry and that she loved them all. And at the very end, she asked Robb to get Sansa back at all costs.

It had taken Arya nearly three hours to write the short three paragraphs, and it could have easily been the hardest three hours of her life.  
Gendry had watched her as she scribbled down words onto the piece of parchment, stare blankly at it for a few moments, and then proceed to crumple it up and start again. This cycle went on for some time until Arya felt satisfied.

She had been crying by the time she sealed the letter, and Gendry had quickly swept her up into his arms. He had told her that they did not have to run, that they could find a different way out of the marriage, but Arya insisted there was no other way.

Arya made him leave her chambers to go and gather what belongings he wished to take with them, and then she was left alone to do the same.  
She had already taken some gold, enough for food once they ran out and a cabin on a boat, and possibly their living expenses once they arrived in the Free Cities, though that could not last for more than a month. They would have to get jobs. They needed blacksmiths in the Free Cities, too, right? And she would have to figure out something for herself as well.

Arya stepped over to her dresser to pick out some clothes. She could find only one two pairs of pants. That meant she had three, if you included the ones she was wearing. There were also only three shirts. Arya decided this was not enough clothes, and reluctantly stuffed two of the dresses in her pack along with the others. She could have sworn she had another pair of pants… She would have to buy more clothes when she got to the Free Cities.

She and Gendry were not sure which of the cities they would live. They had both agreed they would just take the ship that was available to them. Their plan was to try for Saltpans first, then if that failed, to make for either Maidenpool or Gulltown. Neither Saltpans nor Maidenpool was as a major port as Gulltown, but Arya was hopeful they would not have to make the journey all the way there.

Arya opened the bottom drawer to rummage through more dresses, searching for the missing pants. As she dug through the frilly fabrics, her fingers felt something cold and hard. Like iron…

She pulled out the coin Jaqen had given her and studied it. _Valar Morghulis_, she remembered. She had forgotten she had put it there.  
If she was being honest, she had no idea why she had kept it. Arya wanted to become a water dancer, not a Faceless Man. But her hand moved on its own and slipped the coin into her pack.

Arya made sure Fang was situated well into her belt, and then made her way over to the letter. Her fingers traced the seal for a moment, the whole thing feeling surreal. Was she really running away?

Yes, she answered herself as she picked up the letter.

It was time.

* * *

Arya shot Gendry daggers as he bumped into a table that a very fragile vase occupied, which threatened to fall with every wobble. He had already been too loud if you asked her, and if that vase shattered into a million pieces, someone would surely hear.

It didn't, lucky for them. Gendry gave her an apologetic smile that Arya just shook her head at.

"Stay here and be quiet," she whispered to him. "I'll go put the letter on Robb's bed and then we'll go."

She tiptoed down the hall to the chambers her brother and Jeyne shared. Arya figured it was best for Jeyne to find it rather than someone else who would blow the kidnapping cover to the Freys.

She softly opened the door and saw Jeyne sitting on the bed, holding a letter in her hands.

"I thought you were helping the Maester, again," Arya voiced her internal thoughts aloud.

When Jeyne looked up, Arya knew something was terribly wrong. There were tears staining her pretty face, her eyes wearing a faraway yet pained look. The letter must be the cause, she realized.

"Jeyne, what's happened?"

"Robb… he's dead. It's my fault. The Freys killed him because I married him. I'm the reason he… your mother, too, Arya. It was a massacre and it was my fault," Jeyne broke off into tears.

Arya was unable to form words. The world was spinning and she could not see straight. Her mother. Dead. Robb. Dead. Bran. Dead. Rickon. Dead. Her father. Dead. All dead.

Jeyne's voice tore her from her thoughts, who apparently had stopped crying and approached her. "You have to go. They are marching here to take Riverrun. They will kill you or take you hostage. You must go."

Gendry suddenly appeared beside her, and Arya could barely make her vision to focus on him. "Are you okay? I heard crying."

"You have to take her away from here," Jeyne hastily told Gendry. "Robb and Catelyn are dead, and the Freys are on the way here. They will take the castle, kill us or take us prisoner, I don't know. You have to get her somewhere safe."

"But—" she heard Gendry start.

"Now!" Jeyne interrupted.

Arya barely realized that Gendry was being turning her away from Jeyne. Take care of Jeyne for me, Robb had told her. She dug her feet onto the floor, refusing to move. "Wait," she managed to whisper. "Wait," she said again, this time some deal louder and more forceful.

She grabbed Jeyne's hand and pulled her to come with them, but she wouldn't budge.

"I can't," Jeyne told her, new tears pricking at her eyes. "I have to be here to bury him."

Arya hardly could put together her own thoughts. Nothing made sense to her. Everything was spinning and spiraling out of control. She could not see straight and her head was killing her.

Amidst all the chaos, a voice in the back of her head screamed that Jeyne herself had said that they could kill them, that they could kill her. Jeyne had to come with them. _Take care of Jeyne for me,_ Robb's voice told her over and over again. _Take care of Jeyne for me._

But her own voice would not work and Gendry was whisking her away. Before she knew it, she was in the stables, being lifted onto a horse. She felt the shift and tug on her saddle as her pack was being tied to it.

"We have to go," said Gendry, his sympathetic voice faraway. "We can't wait around, Arya."

Arya just sat on the horse, unresponsive. Dead, she repeated silently to herself.

She didn't notice Gendry reaching over from his horse to tug her own reins forwards, signaling her horse to walk.

She wasn't truly aware of the fact they were riding through Riverrun's gates, nor did she really hear Nymeria's sad howling as she trotted beside their horses. Everything seemed so far away. The world seemed so far away.


	11. The Spark

**AN: Finally, the Gendry chapter! I was equally nervous and excited to write this one, so I would love to hear your thoughts. As usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited.**

**In the books, I don't think Arya/Ned/Sansa ever stayed at the Inn of the Kneeling Man on the way to King's Landing. But I kept that part because it worked for the story.**

**And now for the first time, we get a look inside what's going on in Gendry's head...  
**  
Gendry was terrified.

He had thought he could not have been more scared than that day in the abandoned town where a gold cloak had disarmed him and had a sword poised for the kill, or perhaps the time the Tickler had a rat strapped to his chest, or maybe even when he had literally _walked _out of the gates at Harrenhal.

But he had been wrong. And Arya Stark was the reason.

He watched her sleep now, curled up onto her side, furs draped over her shoulders, and head resting in his lap.

She did a lot of that, lately. Sleeping.

And even when she awake, it was as if she wasn't. She never spoke, unless the unsettling mumblings counted. It was like she was having conversations in her head with other people. They were all very random and he didn't understand much from the tidbits he had picked up.

She had mentioned Sansa by name once, her father as well, but Jon's name fell from her lips the most. She never said anything of her mother or Robb. Gendry didn't know what to think of that.

Perhaps she was replaying memories to herself. He only thought this because once she had repeated something from the day they had first met. _Why did you do that? I had it handled, stupid._ That was the first thing she had ever said to him and she had said it again just a few days ago. Had she thought she was there? Had she thought she was back on the Kingsroad bound for the Wall?

But what scared him more than the sleeping, the mumbling, and even having to practically shove food down her throat, was the look in her eyes.  
It was glazed over, so far away. Like she was there, but really wasn't.

He missed the spark in her eyes. The way they danced when she demanded something from him-almost childlike if she wasn't usually calling for a kiss or more. He missed the fire when he provoked her into anger and annoyance, which usually led to some act of violence against him. He missed the desire burning in her eyes as she came apart underneath his touch…

He did not let himself think on that any further. How could that even be on his mind when she had just lost her last parent and another one of her brothers?  
He was broken out of his thoughts when Arya shifted in her sleep. "Valar morghulis," she muttered.

That was not the first time he had heard that from her, asleep or awake. It sounded like gibberish to him. Maybe a different language? He wondered briefly what it meant.

Arya was the most alive person he knew. No one was so full of life as her. But now… it was like she was gone.

But she would come back to him. Wouldn't she?

Yes, he assured himself. She just needed time.

* * *

Gendry didn't know where the hell he was going. The map Arya had packed for them was not much use as he could not read which little dots marked what cities and castles. And he was beginning to realize he could not rely on Arya suddenly returning to him. So, he began to talk to her. He didn't expect her to respond, but he had to try.

At first, it was just little things. He would talk about his time back at King's Landing. He would tell her what happy memories he still had of his mother. He would tell her about Tobho Mott and the shop, and funny stories about some of the more stuck up costumers they had.

Then he began to recount memories he had of her. He told her about the day he realized she was a girl. She had been asleep, so peaceful. Itwas the first time he had really looked at her. It was so obvious her features were feminine that he wondered how he had ever thought otherwise.

He reminisced about the first time he had wanted to kiss her, when she had surprised him and beat him at swordplay. And then all the other times, on the road and at Harrenhal and everywhere else.

He told her about how he had dismissed his feelings for her as a silly crush for some time, thinking it was only instinctive to feel that way about a pretty girl, even if said girl was his best friend. But he couldn't deny it was something more when he held her for the first time at Harrenhal in the pen when she had been close to freezing to death. He admitted the realization had scared him. He knew that he was just a bastard and she was a lady, and they could never be.

After days passed without even a flicker of acknowledgement from Arya, he grew desperate.

He watched her now, across from him, sitting with her back against a tree, her eyes distant and hand absentmindedly stroking Nymeria's fur. Even the direwolf looked lost to him.

"Arya, please talk to me," Gendry started. "I'm afraid to go forward and get lost in the middle of Riverlands. I can't find Saltpans on my own, and I'm not even sure we should be going all that way. It wasn't safe before, but now it seems suicidal. Maybe we should try to find the Brotherhood, or go to Acorn Hall, or one of your bannermen—"

"No. I-I want to go to the Wall," she suddenly spoke. "I want to see Jon," she continued, her voice breaking with a held back sob as she said her brother's name. "I need to see Jon."

Gendry felt like he was in physical pain as he watched her fall apart before him. He instinctively went over to her and gathered her into his arms. He wasn't even sure if she was aware of him there, cradling her head to his chest. She was drowning in her tears, finally letting herself properly grieve for Robb and her mother for the first time.

He was sure it was not the only thing she cried for, but also for her father, for her little brothers, for the two siblings she had not seen in almost two years, and for herself and all of the pain and loss she had been forced to endure.

"We'll go to the Wall, then," his desperate and pained voice promised, though he doubted she heard him through her sobs. "It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

* * *

After Arya's breakdown, Gendry thought she was doing better. The mumbling had ceased, she slept less, ate without him even having to ask, and would sometimes talk to him, but not more than she felt necessary. Their conversations either revolved around the map, food rationing, or stopping for the night.  
And though the faraway, glazed over look had disappeared, there was still no life behind those grey eyes he loved so much. Gendry held onto the hope that once she was reunited with Jon, the fire would reignite.

He knew what they were doing was stupid. It was not safe to travel so far in such war torn lands, and now if the Freys were looking for her… But Arya was determined and he was desperate to lessen her suffering.

So far they had not come across any trouble. They were careful to stay off the main roads, to never stray too far from trees that offered protection, to be cautious when they could not avoid run-ins with other travelers.

As they continued to ride along the Red Fork, Gendry grew more and more wary about their food supply. Luckily, Arya had thought ahead and packed a sufficient amount of food when they were still at Riverrun and planning to run away together. But it would not last forever and they both knew it.

"How much is left?" Arya asked when they had stopped for the night, her lip bitten and voice with a slight waver. He could tell she was uneasy, and Gendry was not sure whether he should worry or rejoice. These past couple of weeks she had pushed everything away, didn't show any hint or sign of emotion, excluding of course the onetime she had cried.

He sighed as he rummaged through the sack. "Not much. A good bit of bread. The fruit is old but we might have to risk it. I say it lasts about a week. How long until we get to Lord Harroway's Town?"

"I think we are about halfway there. Even if we ride fast… we won't make it."

He nodded and then they fell into a silence that had become familiar to him as of late.

"I think we will pass the Inn of the Kneeling Man in the next few days. I stopped there on the way to King's Landing with my…" she trailed off, and Gendry swore there was a flicker of something behind her eyes, but as fast as it came, it went. She looked away and cleared her throat before she continued. "I know it's risky, but I think it's our only option. We need food."

"I don't know…"

"And what are we supposed to do then? Starve to death?" she questioned with dry humor.

When he didn't answer, she sighed. "We'll be careful, Gendry," she said with an unexpected softness. "I promise."

He found himself agreeing despite the fact that every bone in his body screamed that it was too dangerous. But what else were they to do?

* * *

It was raining when they arrived at the Inn of the Kneeling Man the next night. Well, pouring would be a more accurate description.

She had changed into a dress. Gendry had thought it looked too expensive and extravagant at first, but once it was drenched with rain, it looked as common as any other dress to him. The cause of this change of clothes was that they were unsure if someone would be looking for a girl wearing pants or a dress. They decided it would draw less attention if she wore the latter.

Arya had sent Nymeria off to the woods as the wolf made her identity pretty obvious. Gendry was more nervous that she would not return than Arya was. In fact, if she had any doubts at all she did not let them show.

After they put their spooked horses in the mostly empty stables, he and Arya walked into the inn together. His eyes immediately went to scan the room for any sign of danger. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. It was not as if someone was just going to stand up and tell him that he intended to murder them, but he supposed it was only instinct.

There weren't many guests in the inn. A group of three sat together at one of the tables and two men sat at the bar who were clearly well into their cups.  
Arya strode up to the woman behind the bar, dripping a trail of puddles as she passed. He followed not far behind.

"Do you have any spare rooms?" she asked instead of a greeting.

What? "I thought we weren't staying, just—"

"Are you crazy? We cannot go out in that storm."

There was a loud crack of thunder as she finished speaking. She decided that proved her point well enough and turned back to the woman. "So, do you have a room?"

"Yes," she answered. "But it'll cost you."

"We have money."

"You don't look like it."

She knew whatever the price was, she could afford it, but she was also smart enough not to flash around her money. "How much for a night and a meal?" she played along.

"Five stags," the woman answered.

Arya didn't say anything and simply fished through their pack and pulled out the little silver coins.

The woman nodded and went to take it. "Sit down," she ordered them. "I'll get your meal and some ale."

They obeyed as the woman poured them each a mug, and then disappeared behind a door in the back where he assumed she would get the promised meal.

"So, where are you lot headed?"

Gendry realized the drunk man a few chairs away from them was speaking to them. "Uh..."

Arya came to his aid. "Seagard. We hear it's the only place in all the Riverlands untouched by the war."

"Ugh. _The war_," the man's friend chimed in. "The wolf and the lion are at each other's necks, but somehow we are the ones whose throats get torn out. You hear about what happened at the Twins?"

No, no, no, no.

"Of course they've heard about it," the original man said with a snort. "All of Westeros has!"

"But did they hear they cut off the Stark boy's head and sewed it onto his direwolf? Or that they threw his mother naked into the river?"

The other rolled his eyes. "Mummer's farce."

"It's true, I swear it! I say they had it coming, though. They are the ones who started the whole damn thing, capturing the Imp. They are the ones who brought the war to our home."

"Aye," the other man agreed with a grin, clanking his glass with his friend.

As the two friends spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on Arya, preparing to intervene as he waited for her to come to her family's defense, to scream, to cry, to try and stick them with the pointy end as she might put it. But it never came. She just sat there in silence and sipped at her ale. If he didn't know better, he would say she did not care. Maybe that was for the better.

Instead of the woman, a boy brought out their food. Gendry thought perhaps he was her son, though they did not look alike.

He ate quicker than he would have liked, but his first hot meal in weeks was too tempting to savor. Arya ate at a steadier pace, but that he had expected. Eating had been more like work to her as of late.

When she decided she had eaten enough, she slid off the stool without a word and ascended up the stairs to their room.

He humored the idea of following after her, to make sure she was okay. But he came to the conclusion that she wanted to be alone, or else she would not have left. Perhaps what she needed was some time alone, to really think and process all that had happened. She hadn't had the chance yet, for he had been around all the time.

He stayed at the bar and finished his meal. When the boy offered him a refill of his ale, he accepted. But he did not have a third. Gendry had never been much of a drinker, but now after the realization that he was Robert Baratheon's son, the fear of becoming a drunk like him overran any desire he had for another drink. He would not be like him. He could not.

After he ran out of things to do and sat at the bar alone for a while, he decided he had probably given Arya enough time and made his way to their room.  
He found her in bed, already fast asleep. The covers were pulled up to her chest, but he assumed she was not wearing anything at all. Her dress lay on the floor next to her shoes, where she must have stripped it before falling into bed.

It was obvious to him it was not a peaceful sleep she had fallen into. Her head thrashed to the side, and whimpered something that sounded like "no" to him. A nightmare, he knew.

This had never been uncommon. He couldn't count the times he had seen her be haunted by her past in her dreams on his ten fingers.  
He sat on the edge of the bed beside her and noticed there were tears wet on her on cheeks, something else not entirely uncommon during one of her nightmares. He gently put his hand on her shoulder to nudge her awake. Her panicked eyes shot open, but as she came to her surroundings, she flung herself into his arms. He was sure she had never clung to him tighter. It was as if she was afraid that if she let go, even for the slightest of seconds, he would float away.

"The lion, Gendry, it—" She paused her frantic whispers, unable to say whatever the lion had done. "Gendry, please, promise me you won't let them take you away from me. Please," she repeated desperately. It was not a mystery to him who "them" was, either the Lannisters or the Freys, mostly likely both.

"No one is taking me away," he assured as held her close, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her bare back. He felt his cock stir as he really realized she was naked and so close to him. No, he could not be doing this now. She was obviously in great distress and pain, and this was not the time to be thinking about her that way.

Her head lifted from where it had been buried into his neck to look into his eyes. "Promise me." The way she said it was demanding, but there was also a vulnerability in her tone.

"I promise you, Arya," he said intently. "I won't let them take me away."

She leaned in to bring their lips together. It was their first kiss since Riverrun, and gods, it was even better than he remembered. It was also a gigantic weight off his shoulders. In the back of his mind, there had been a little voice that worried that they weren't together like they had been before, that perhaps she couldn't handle a relationship with everything that was going on.

He groaned as he felt her tongue snake its way between his parted lips and sweep against his. She pulled him down onto the bed with her as she laid down. The death grip Arya had on his back had not lessened since their embrace, but it stopped briefly to remove his shirt and then her hands immediately went back to their place. Her nails dug so deep into the skin there, he was sure he would bleed.

He kissed down her neck softly and took pleasure at the sound of her breath hitching in tune with the movements of his lips. His hand slid down between her legs and found her already wet for him. She let out a small moan as he slipped two of his fingers into her. He would have used his mouth, but she held him too tightly for him to move.

As she began to rock her hips against him, he could feel she was already close. When his thumb brushed the bundle of nerves there, he felt her come apart with a shudder and gasp. He almost thought he saw the fire he missed so much burning behind her eyes, but if it had even been there at all, it was gone all the same.

Her eyes drifted shut as he felt her relax underneath him, her nails no longer digging into his back. Gendry thought in that moment that maybe he had made her forget, if only just for a second. He hoped he could do that much for her.

When her breathing steadied and eyes opened, her hands finally left his back to trail down his chest and to the laces of his pants. He wanted to, really. The straining, protruding bulge in his pants was proof enough. But it didn't seem right to take something from her that night.

His hands enveloped hers to stop her. Her questioning eyes looked up to meet his. "Not tonight."

She looked ready to push this farther, but then nodded, most likely too tired. He rolled off of her and pulled her into his chest. He focused on the sound of her breathing, which quickly turned into the steady, deep breaths that indicated sleep and tried to forget his need for release and get some sleep himself.

* * *

He woke the next morning to a hand on his arm and gentle lips pressing against his back, so soft he barely felt it. _Arya_, he thought. He smiled contentedly as he turned to see her.

She was on her side, facing him, already dressed in the same dress she had worn the day before. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid, and he took a moment to realize how long it was getting, growing well past her shoulders. He remembered she had once told him at Harrenhal that it used to be really long, and how she hated having it tugged and fashioned into some elaborate style every morning, but she also had begrudgingly admitted that she was impressed with how easy the handmaidens made it seem and how fast their fingers could work. Like magic, she had said.

"I scratched you."

"Hmm?" Gendry asked, still not fully awake.

"Your back."

"Oh," he realized, craning his neck to see it. He couldn't see it very well, but he was able to make out that there were indeed some red marks. Well, at least he hadn't bled like he had thought he would.

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt."

She gave him a small smile that didn't look entirely genuine to him. She hadn't smiled since... before.

She suddenly stood from the bed. "You should get dressed. The rain stopped this morning, so it's safe to go. I just bought all the food Sharna could spare for ten dragons, and I want to leave before she starts asking questions about where we got all that money."

"Who is Sharna?"

"The inn keeper."

"Oh. Is she suspicious?"

"Of course she is," Arya said with a roll of her eyes. It was nice to see her returning to some of her old habits. Maybe she really was doing better…

"Do you think she'll tell anyone?"

"If she does, we'll be long gone."

* * *

"We can't take you across," the ferryman told them.

They had arrived in Lord Harroway's Town that morning only to find it partially flooded. According to the ferryman, the waters were too dangerous to cross. But Arya and Gendry both knew they could not get to Saltpans without crossing the Trident.

"It can't be _that_ bad," Arya said.

"It's not safe. For me, my crew, or you. You can't be so desperate to cross that you're willing to die, are you?"

She ignored his question. "We'll pay you."

"With what money?" he snorted.

She gestured for Gendry to hand her their pack and he went to give it to her. He watched the ferryman's eyes grow wide as she pulled out a few of the gold dragons after digging through the bag for some time. "I'll give you ten dragons if you take us now."

The man nodded in agreement, reaching out to take the coins.

"Half now, the rest when we are across," Arya told him, counting five of the coins and placing them in his hand.

"I'll ready the ferry," he said after he got the first half of us payment, and then walked off the dock and into the boat.

Two different men approached to take their things onto the ferry. One struggled to lead the horses over, and the other went to pick up the large wooden crate that sat on the dock. Gendry and Arya had paid a farmer they came across on the road a few days before to give the box to them.

A growl came from the crate as the man struggled to lift it. He put it back down and looked questioningly at them.

"My dog," Gendry answered. "He runs off a lot, and tends to bite strangers, so I wouldn't suggest opening it up."

The man nodded. "Must be one big beast of a dog, I don't think I can lift it on my own."

Gendry bent down to help him with the crate and bring it over to the ferry. He was surprised how heavy Nymeria truly was.

Arya had been reluctant to lock Nymeria up, but there really was no other way. The direwolf was a dead giveaway. It was better than the alternative of leaving her behind. But then again, she would probably find them again, all the way at the Wall. There was something special about the bond between Arya and Nymeria. The same day they had left the inn, the direwolf had found them. How? He did not know.

After they all shuffled onto the boat, they began their journey across. The waters were high and unpredictable, and generally not safe as the man had said before. Arya had made him nervous the entire time by standing too near the edge, but he had been too busy with the panicked horses to say anything. But it worked out for the best, as she had been able to pull one of the men down onto the floor with her when they had almost hit a fallen tree, just barely in time before he went flying overboard.

They made it across all in one piece, and the ferrymen got their gold. Nymeria was released from her prison, and was very happy to see land again. And Gendry and Arya were headed to Saltpans.

Hopefully, they would find a boat there that would take them to the Wall.

* * *

Arya had convinced him to stop at the inn they came across about a week later. They still had a good amount of food, but she wasn't sure how far off Saltpans was and didn't want to take the chance that they would run out.

He could not have expected what they found in the inn. Three people lay dead scattered about the floor, two he recognized as The Tickler and another one of the Mountain's men, and the other was a boy that couldn't have been older than him.

But what was most surprising was the Hound, sitting on the floor, back leaning against the bar and clutching at his stomach, blood continuing to coat his hands and shirt. But he was alive.

Had they fought each other? But they were his brother's men, why would they fight? And where was the inn keeper?

Arya rushed over to the Hound, kneeling beside him in his pool of blood. He followed suit and knelt next to her. Her hand outstretched to pull up his shirt to see the wound. When Gendry saw how deep it was, he knew the Hound would not survive.

"Look who it is, the wolf bitch and her bull," the Hound said, choking on a laugh.

"Give me one of the shirts," she ordered him. He quickly went through their pack and did as she said, but he knew it was no use. The Hound would die.

She pressed the cloth against the cut in attempt to stop the bleeding. "Arya…"

"What?" she snapped at him.

"He's trying to tell you that I'm going to die," the Hound answered for him. "And he's right."

Arya looked helpless as she clutched at the now red stained shirt. "But…"

Gendry moved to stand up. "I can get some wine for-"

"No," the Hound interrupted, so he went back to his place on the floor. "I'm already drunk. But… you could end it, a clean death." He looked at Arya as he said it, and part of him was glad that he was not asking him, but he knew she should not have to do it.

There was a long pause until she spoke. "I..I can't," Arya said, meekly.

"You can. Don't deny that you've always wanted to. You finally have your chance, avenge your beloved butcher's boy," he urged. "I ran him down, he was innocent and I killed him, and slung him over my horse like a deer. And I liked it. I liked—"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Arya suddenly rounded on the Hound in anger. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"It already is." The Hound laughed dryly. "You know, before I left, at the Battle at Blackwater, I went to your sister. I held a knife to her throat and made the little bird sing to me so sweetly. I took that song, I should have took her, too. I should have fucked her till she bled, I should have—"

"Fuck you!" Arya spat as she stood up. Gendry could practically feel her rage bubbling over. "You don't _deserve_ the mercy of a quick death." And then she turned on her heels and began to storm out of the inn.

"A real wolf would finish her kill!" the Hound called out to her, but her only reply was to slam the door behind her. "Just you and me, then," he sighed as he turned to him. "I assume you know where the heart is."

Gendry hesitated. He did not want his blood on his hands. And he also did not want go against Arya's decision, even if it was the wrong one. And he most definitely did not want her to find out if he did end his suffering. She would kill him.

The Hound had done horrible things, but did he truly not deserve a quick death? Didn't everyone deserve a quick death? It was not as if their pain was going to undo their past deeds.

"I-I'll do it," Gendry spoke finally.

The Hound gave him the dagger in his belt. "If you miss, I'll kill you."

He ignored the threat. "I won't."

He watched as the Hound close his eyes, waiting for death. There was no point in drawing it out more than it had to be. Gendry would not be selfish that way. He didn't let himself hesitate as he slid the knife into his heart. His eyes shot open, but then the life went out and it was over.

Gendry stood from the floor and left the inn, slightly shaken. He had killed two people now.

Arya was waiting for him outside, sitting in the grass beside their horses and petting Nymeria, who was resting her large head on her lap.

She looked up at him. "Did you do it?"

He would not lie. "Yes."

She nodded her head so softly he almost did not catch it. "I- I am glad you did."

He nodded back and gave her his hand to help her up, and then they mounted their horses and continued on their route to Saltpans, letting the inn disappear far in the distance behind them.

It wasn't until the next day that either one of them realized they had forgotten to get food.

* * *

They arrived at Saltpans a week later, and luckily without running out of food. The small town looked like it had been sacked, half of the shops, inns, and other various business ventures having been burnt down. The port was still intact, though.

There were three ships, but two were only river galleys. The other, known as Titan's Daughter, was much larger, and unique in Gendry's opinion, with the deep purple sails that flapped high in the wind.

"You do not have enough money," the captain told them, with an accent that reminded him of Jaqen H'gar.

He could tell Arya was losing her patience with having to hear that same song over and over again. "I have money!" she huffed.

"That may very well be, but not enough gold exists for me to go that much out of my way and sail to the Wall. There is nothing for me there. I'm headed home, and eagerly so."

Something flickered in her eyes, a look he had seen many times before. She was planning something. "And where is home?"

"Braavos."

Arya silently pulled out the pack and began to shuffle through their things.

"Nothing you have—"

The captain was cut off as she pulled out a coin that Gendry had never seen before. It looked like silver, though well worn out and dull, but it was clearly not a stag.

"Valar morghulis," she said.

It was those foreign words, he realized. It was the words she had uttered in sleep those restless nights just after they had just fled Riverrun.

"Valar dohaeris," the captain said after his stunned silence. "Yes, all men must serve. Take whichever cabin that pleases you most."

What had just happened?

"You will take us to the Wall, then?" Arya inquired.

The man swallowed nervously. "You don't wish to go to Braavos?"

"No."

He clenched his jaw, obviously annoyed but Gendry sensed something else from the man. Was it fear? Could he be afraid of Arya? For what reason? No one would ever expect the tiny, seemingly defenseless young girl in front of him to be dangerous, though Gendry knew that was not actually the case. Arya could be dangerous when she wanted.

"All men must serve, remember?" she reminded him with his previous words. "Valar dohaeris."

He looked defeated as he nodded. "You are right. We sail for the Wall tonight."

* * *

Gendry woke to an empty bed on his first morning on Titan's Daughter. Where had Arya gone?

After boarding the ship the night before, Arya had chosen their cabin and collapsed into the bed, sleep falling over her almost instantaneously. The captain, whose name they learned to be Ternesio Terys, offered her his own cabin, as well as separate one for Gendry, but Arya opted to share the smaller one with him. He had felt his cheeks heat up at her frankness, but he was glad to share a bed with her.

As he pulled himself out of bed and dressed, he realized his stomach was no longer twisting. He had been a little nauseous the night before, having never being on a ship before. He must be beginning to adjust to the not-so-gentle rock of the waves.

He left their cabin and shuffled down the hall that led to the stairs, resolving to try and hunt down Arya.

On his way, he heard a growl coming from one of the rooms. Had Arya let Nymeria out of her crate? The door was open, so he poked his head in. There was a boy who must work on the crew, maybe two or three years younger than him, holding a tray of food and fearfully eying Nymeria, who was in the process of intimidating the poor boy into giving her some bacon.

"Nymeria, no."

The direwolf turned her head to him and then back to the boy as if to complain, but then she trotted over to Gendry and stuck out her head to demand to be pet as payment.

He scratched behind her ears, "Good girl."

"That is a wolf," the boy stated the obvious, his voice also dripping in what he knew now to be the Braavosi accent. "A massive wolf."

A _dire_wolf, Gendry wanted to correct. But instead he grinned and said, "Aye. But a trained one, so there's not to worry."

"Is that some kind of strange Westerosi custom? Training wolves?"

"Yeah, it's pretty common," Gendry lied easily. "Have you seen my friend?"

The boy nodded. "I saw her up on deck a while ago. I think she likes watching the waves."

He smiled his thanks and headed up the stairs, Nymeria following at his heels.

It was easier than he expected to find her. He spotted her almost immediately as his feet touched the deck's creaky wood. She was standing near the edge, her hands gripping the railing. Her eyes were closed and head tilted back, the high sun's warmth bathing her skin and the sea breeze blowing back her dark locks.

He began to approach her, and she must have heard, for her eyes opened. She turned to him and _smiled. _She actually smiled, and not the forced kind he had been lucky enough to get on occasion.

And then he saw it—the spark. The life behind her eyes, the fire that had been out ever since the loss of Robb and her mother.

"It's beautiful," she told him.

Yes, he thought, it really was.

**AN: Next week, we'll get back to the usual Arya POVs. But maybe I'll do another Gendry chapter sometime again if you guys liked it...**


	12. The Storm

**AN: If it isn't obvious enough in this chapter, I truly know nothing about boats, especially technical terms and what not. So for that, I apologize.**

**This one is a little shorter compared to the last chapter, but it's a day early! I call that a win. **

**I meant to talk about what went down between Arya and Gendry in the last episode with you guys. Way to tear out our hearts and stomp on them, D&D! But about this week's episode. Gendry really just can't catch a break, can he? But I'm glad they're keeping him around. Plus, we all know what happened to Edric after being almost sacrificed by Mel. It seems like they might be setting him and Arya up to meet again. Maybe Gendry will be what pulls her back in the end.**

**As usual, thanks to all who reviewed/followed/favorited. A few of you said you liked the Gendry chapter and would like another, and I think I will write one some time in the near future. But for now, we check back in on Arya...**

"You still remember my name, yes?"

"Yorko Terys." Arya barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes as she answered the captain's eldest son's question from across the table.

"And mine?" his younger brother in the seat next to her asked her.

"Denyo Terys," she answered easily and spread a bit of honey onto the biscuit that lay on her plate.

It was getting a little annoying. A good half of the crew was afraid of her, but the ones who were not would frequently ask her to remember their names. But a few of them also gave her gifts, so she felt unable to complain. She was quite attached to the fur cloak one of the men had given her. It was something she would need at the Wall.

Gendry approached their little breakfast table then and sat down beside her, then leaned in to meet her lips for a chaste kiss. When she tried to deepen it, he pulled away. Arya did let herself roll her eyes this time. He could be so modest and bashful at time. Though, he certainly had not been the night before, when they had been alone. He never was when they were alone.

It was nice to not have to hide. Well, she had to hide her identity. She could not be Arya Stark here. The crew had taken to calling her "Salty", because they picked her up in Saltpans, which she thought was funny, only because it was the least creative nickname ever thought.

And of course, there was the biggest lie of all. But was it really a lie if you just stayed silent and let others come to their own conclusions? She knew these people may or may not believe her to be a Faceless Man… She was getting off point.

She did not have to hide her relationship with Gendry. She was free to be with whoever she wanted to be with. It had never been like that before. Would she still be free when they got to the Wall? When she was Arya Stark again?

"Since when did you become such an early riser? Every morning since we've gotten here you've woken up before me." He leaned in close to her ear to say the rest, his lips almost brushing against her and his breath tickling the skin there. "It's getting lonely, that big bed all to myself…" Arya felt her throat go dry at his low, husky voice. It took all of her will power not to push him down onto the table and have him right there.

She put her hand on his chest and put some distance between them. Arya saw the Terys brothers' raised eyebrows and was sure she blushed. Great, now she was the bashful one. She struggled to compose herself as she spoke. "It is most beautiful in the mornings. The sunrise, the waves…. You should see it."

"I will if you wake me."

"It may not be so beautiful tonight," the captain chimed in as he joined them at the table and started to make his own plate of food. "A storm's coming."

"A storm?" Arya frowned as she looked up at the sky to see there were in fact some dark clouds forming. That could not be good. "Will we be okay?"

"Yes, it may not even come. These things are unpredictable. But if it does, it's probably best you stay under the deck. You too, Denyo."

"But, Father, I could help. I've been getting good at—"

"Enough," the captain cut his son off. "You are still too young."

Denyo looked at a loss while his older brother tried to conceal his amused smile by taking a sip from his glass.

And it hurt. It almost _physically_ hurt her to watch the normalcy between this family before her.

She would never have that again.

She finally felt Gendry's concerned eyes on her and cleared her throat, trying to shake the emptiness that had settled itself in her chest. Luckily, the Terys did not seem to be as attentive as Gendry and were unaware of anything being off with her.

"Will it throw us off course?" she asked, getting back to the subject at hand.

He waved the question away. "Very unlikely."

"But possible?"

He did not deny this. "Even if it does, I'll have us back on course before you even realize we ever strayed."

"Don't worry," Yorko added with a reassuring smile when he noticed she was still anxious. "My father knows these seas better than anyone. He knows what he's doing."

She nodded and tried to force a smile back.

* * *

Her cabin was small and did not allow much decoration. There was a bed, which barely fit two despite what Gendry had said earlier that day. And then there was a small desk in the corner that she currently sat at the moment with Nymeria laying near her feet.

She watched her reflection in the little, dusty and old mirror that leaned against the wall, focusing on the movements of her fumbling fingers. She huffed in frustration at the fact that she was so out of practice that a simple braid had become a challenge. To be fair, she always had a handmaiden to do it for her, but she used to be able to do something so basic!

Perhaps she should just cut it again. It was in the way all the time, blowing in her face and blocking her vision, especially now with the constant sea breeze. But no… her mother would have wanted her to let it grow out and so she would. Was it wrong to desperately cling to the little things the way she was? It couldn't be healthy.

The work was not getting easier, and she was about to give up and comb her fingers through what she had managed to complete when a voice at the doorway stopped her.

"Do you need some help?"

Arya turned to the woman standing in her doorway. She was older than her, but could not be more than five-and-twenty. She was pretty, with glowing, bronze skin and dark lashes that defined her bright green eyes well.

"Would you?" she answered with a relieved smile. "Thank you. The wind is driving me mad. It seems like every five seconds I'm fussing to get hair out of my face."

The woman laughed softly as she made her way over to her. "Yeah, I learned the hard way too. I once almost fell overboard because my hair did not allow me to see. Luckily, my husband caught me."

"Does he work on the crew?" Arya asked as she watched the woman in the mirror begin to untangle the mess she had made of her hair and restarting.

She nodded. "And I help with the meals."

"Really? Well, I must say, your biscuits are great. I only knew one other person who could make them that good." Arya wondered where Hot Pie was now. Was he in Harrenhal, baking pies right this very moment?

"Thank you… Okaay and… Done," the woman smiled triumphantly after she tied the braid together.

"Thank you, again," Arya said as she stood and turned to face her. "I'll be sure to remember your name…um, what is your name?"

This seemed to please the woman. "Jeyne," she said brightly. "Jeyne Valeanys."

_Jeyne. _Arya was sure her previous smile had faltered. She had promised her brother to take care of his wife, but instead she did the exact opposite and ran off to save her own skin. Who knew what happened to her? If the Freys had taken Riverrun, then she was a captive... or dead.

"Are you okay?" Jeyne asked.

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, I—"

She was cut off by being thrown to the other side of the room from a sudden shift of the ship. Arya caught herself on the wall, but Jeyne had not been so lucky and had fallen to the ground. There was another shift, and things were flying everywhere. The desk toppled over and the mirror shattered with a crash that seemed to ring in her ears. The bed went skating against the floor, nearly crushing Nymeria, who was able to just narrowly avoid it.

"What's going on?" Jeyne asked as Arya helped her up.

"A storm. Do you hear the rain?" she answered. "Stay under the deck and find somewhere where there is a limited amount of stuff to crush you." Arya led her out of the room and into the hall, the direwolf following close behind. "Take Nymeria with you."

Arya started to head towards the steps that led to the deck, but stopped as Nymeria began to follow. "No, you stay with Jeyne. Okay?" Her companion whined but obeyed and retreated back to Jeyne.

"Where are you going?" Jeyne asked.

"I have to go get my friend. Stay down here."

Arya hurried up the stairs without waiting for a reply. As she went to open the door, someone beat her to it. From the other side, a frazzled Denyo came rushing through, shutting the door quickly behind him.

"Is Gen—the Bull up there?" Arya asked, just barely catching herself. It was not safe for him to be Gendry anymore. Because of her. Everything seemed to be her fault these days. Part of her wondered if he resented her for it. If she had not asked him to come with her all those moon turns ago, he would be with the Brotherhood. He would be spending his days making swords and his nights drinking with his brothers_, _and who knows, he might have met a nice girl. Someone who wouldn't drag him down like she did.

"Yes, but don't—"

She didn't wait to hear the rest of his warning, and slipped through the door. She was immediately assaulted with violent rain beating down on her, soaking her clothes and hair straight through. She put her arms around herself at the sudden chill. She squinted through the rain to try and spot Gendry as one of the passing frantic crew members who shouted out orders in a language she did not understand.

She began to walk around the ship in her search, occasionally grabbing onto whatever was nearest as the ship took a blow from the angry, brutal waves. Arya decided she did not like the ocean as much anymore.

She found him all the way on the other side, on the stairs that led to uppermost part of the ship, helping a man carrying something down the steps.

She ran over to the stairs. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell am I doing? What the hell are _you_ doing? It's not safe up here—"

"No shit! Come back down with me right now!"

Gendry didn't respond, or even seem to hear her. His eyes grew wide as she watched something over her shoulder.

"Look out!" a voice warned from behind her.

Arya turned just in time to see the massive, dark blue wave crashing towards their ship. And then she was underwater, and pain was travelling up her side as she was rammed into the stairs. Her hands instinctively grabbed hold of the stairs beneath her to prevent herself from being washed away. The burn of salt was present in her eyes and mouth, but the worst of it was her lungs screaming for air, having been unprepared for this lack of oxygen.

When the wave had passed, she propped herself up on her elbows, struggling to get off the stairs. She noticed the rain had slowed a bit, and thought that the worst was over. She coughed up the water as her eyes grew teary, not from pain but to rid themselves of the unwelcome saltiness of the sea.

"Gendry…" she moaned, not thinking straight enough to call him by his alias.

She scrambled off the stairs, nearly slipping on the wet floor, but caught herself on the railing before she could. A sharp pain starting at her hip shot up her side at the reflexive and quick movement. She ignored it and looked around for Gendry. She panicked as she saw that he was not where he had been before.

She circled around, seeing several men in the same position she had been a few moments ago, spitting up the sea and recovering from injuries.

Her heart stopped as she recognized him just by his backside, across the deck and laying face first. He looked… _No, not today_.

She rushed over to him and flipped him over, pulling him into her lap. She sighed with relief as his eyes fluttered open at the movement, though slightly glazed over. "Arya…"

"I'm here," she told him. Her fingers traced the cut on his forehead. It was bleeding, but not enough to be fatal. There was a bruise, too, already in the midst of forming. He must have hit it on something pretty badly.

His eyes started to drift shut. "No!" She struggled with his weight to put him in a sitting position. "You cannot go to sleep." She knew enough from Maester Luwin that you weren't supposed to fall asleep right after a head injury. Some do not wake up.

She continued her fight to get him up, but he only leaned into her. "So tired…" he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

"You can't!" She tried to stand up, but he was proving too heavy. Instead, she managed to push him off of her shoulder and he fell back to the floor. He grunted at the impact, but then he closed his eyes again.

She didn't know what else to do, so she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. It stung her hand, but it was worth it. It gained her a response.

"Owww." His eyes shot open, much more aware than before. "What did I ever do to you?"

"You almost got yourself killed, that's what you did to me. What in seven hells gave you the idea to stay on the deck, you stupid bull?"

"I was helping," he said as if that explained everything

"Yeah, well, next time don't!"

"Hey, I'm not the only one did something stupid here."

"I was looking for you! If you had come down, I would never have even come up."

Gendry gave a resigned sigh as he sat up, clearly not wanting to fight. "Are you okay?"

Arya nodded. "Are you?"

"I think so. It's just my head," he said, his hand rising up to touch the damage that had been done.

"You really scared me there for a minute."

"I know. I'm sorry." He reached out to cup her face, and she welcomed the touch, leaning into his hand. Arya was pulled into a trace by his eyes, and without a second thought she closed the distance between their lips. She lost herself in the feel of his hands pulling her closer and closer, his tongue melding with hers, and the faint, steady beat of his heart barely felt underneath the palm of her hand.

* * *

The storm had not blown them off course, but that did not mean everything was going well for Arya.

Gendry had been acting very strange around her.

For one thing, he would not let things go any further than kissing, if she was even lucky enough to get that much. The night they both almost drowned, he had been unable to keep his hands off of her as they had retreated to their room. But once he had gotten her clothes off, he stopped and said his head was hurting. And she was getting really tired of that excuse. He was clearly healing just fine at this point!

And the weirdest thing was that he often looked pained when he looked at her. It reminded her of the time at Acorn Hall when he had been planning to join the Brotherhood. He had a very similar expression then, and that scared her.

All of it started right after the storm, so she had come to conclusion that it must have something to do with that.

They lost two men that night. One had fallen overboard, and the other broke his neck. Arya thought that Gendry blamed her. If she had not made them sail for the Wall, then they would not have gotten caught up in that storm, and no one would have died.

She had a hard enough time dealing with her own guilt and she did not need him adding onto it.

Arya currently sat in the tub she had brought into her room. The water was still warm, and seemed to dull the pain on her side. When she had been knocked into those stairs, she had gained a bruise. It was fairly gruesome, the black and blue stretching from her left hip all the way up her side, and even a little on her stomach.  
It hurt like hell.

Gendry came through the door then, wearing that stupid pained expression. "Dinner is ready."

"Okay," she forced a small smile. Arya grabbed the edges of the bath to hoist herself up, flinching slightly at the pain in her side.

She stepped out of the tub and started towards her clothes, but stopped when she saw Gendry had turned away.

Something snapped within her. "Are you that disgusted with me? Do you really think I'm that horrible of a person? To the point you can't even _look_ at me?"

He looked genuinely confused as he turned to look at her. "Wha—"

"I know I fucked up, Gendry. I really do. But you are the one person I thought I could count on to still love me despite all the fucked up shit I do!"

"I—"

"You stayed with me when I killed The Tickler, Armory Lorch, even when I told you about the stable boy, all of them! So if you blame me for what happened to those men, I—"

"Arya," He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders to cut her off. "Please stop for a second so I can talk."

She nodded her consent. She would hear what he had to say.

He sighed before he spoke. "The reason why I can't look at you is because I hurt you. These bruises," his fingers traced the discoloration on her hip as he said it. "They're my fault. And every time I see you, it's a reminder. Every time I see these bruises, it's a reminder. And I can't live with the fact that I hurt you."

"That's stupid. It's not your fault."

"It is. You said so yourself. If I hadn't been on the deck, you wouldn't have come looking for me and you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Arya rolled her eyes. "You are such an idiot some times. Are you the one who made that wave? Did you knock me into the stairs?"

"No, but—"

"Shut up. It's not your fault and that's the end of it. Will you kiss me now? Or am I going to have to wait until the bruises heal?"

Gendry smiled and leaned in to do as she said. He pulled her up into her arms and she wrapped her legs around him, forcing herself not to wince at the slight twinge of pain in her side. She thought if he noticed it would not do much to help ease his guilt.

He carried her over to the bed and set her down before stripping off his shirt. He crawled over her and his lips immediately went to work at her neck, earning him a gasp of delight.

"Yes…" she arched into him as his mouth moved down to her breasts. She let her hands trail up his back, nails raking against his skin, not hard enough to really hurt him or leave any marks.

He kissed up to her jaw and up to her swollen lips. Her fingers lightly tugged at his hair as she met his eager kisses with equal vehemence and fervor.

She whimpered at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, looking curious. "Earlier, you said I blamed you for the deaths of those men. Did you mean the two crew members?"

"Are we really doing this right now? There are so many other, much more fun, things we can do…" she trailed off suggestively.

"Yes. It's important."

She sighed. "Okay, yes, but it doesn't matter now. I know that wasn't it." Arya leaned back in, but he pulled away again. "What?"

"Arya, you know that wasn't your fault, right?"

"It kind of was, though. If I hadn't have tricked them into taking us to the Wall, they would be on their merry way to Braavos and no one would have died in that storm."

"Are you the one who made that wave?" he said, using her own words against her. "Did you break that man's neck? Did you throw the other into the ocean?"

Arya nearly laughed at her double standard. She flipped them over so she could straddle him. She leaned down to bring her lips to his neck. "Alright, I get it. I'm an idiot, too," she said between the kisses she placed down his chest. "We can be idiots together." She sat back up, grinding into the evidence of his arousal, and bit her lip at the feel of him pressing into her without the obstruction of her clothes.

"Gods, Arya," he hissed.

She smiled at the desired effect. "We agree, then? Talking is such a waste of time…" She took her time letting her hand move down his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

"I really will love you no matter what, Arya."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his at the sound of his voice. Her eyes grew glassy at the genuine love she saw. She had never been so touched. "I know," she spoke softly. "And I will, too." She bent down to brush her lips against his.

Not wanting to get too sappy, she deepened the kiss and ground herself against him again, satisfied at the low groan that he emitted.

When she pulled back from their kiss, she was appeased to see his lustful gaze. She kept their eyes locked as she began to untie the laces of his pants at a painfully slow rate, fully aware that she was driving him crazy.

"Stop torturing me."

Arya chuckled. "You torture me all the time," she said as her fingers teasingly played at the waist of his pants.

She gasped as she was suddenly flipped onto her back again. Any previous playfulness she felt before was replaced by a haze of desire as Gendry's lips moved with a purpose down her neck, her chest, and finally where she longed for his touch the most.

They both forgot about dinner that night.  
Arya had no regrets.

* * *

"This is not Eastwatch!"

"No, but it's close enough," the captain answered. "You're not far off. A week's ride away."

Arya's anger bubbled over as she looked at the rocky shore that was in view from her place at the deck. "Why are you doing this? What happened to 'all men must serve'?"

"I do, just not you."

She grit her teeth. "We have no food! We have no horses!" She and Gendry had given them away in Saltpans to a widow who lost her tavern to the fires, as well as her husband. Arya had not thought they would have need of them again. "How are we supposed to get to the Wall?"

"You are lucky I don't throw you in the sea and let you drown! I lost two of my crew. Two good men! Old friends, and now they are dead. All because of your folly."

"What folly? I didn't cause the storm!"

"Do you think I don't know? You are no Faceless Man! Faceless Men do not get weak in the knees when handsome boys smile and give them kisses! I thought you were playing him. That you would kill him, but you never do and he still lives and my men do not!"

"I—" Arya really racked her brain for something convincing. "A girl doesn't have to say anything. It is not for a man to spoil a girl's secrets!"

The captain just sighed, exasperated. "My son will row you ashore. All of your stuff is already on the boat, and we packed you some food that will last you until you get to the Wall."

Yorko approached then, and she let herself and Gendry be led over to the side of the ship with Nymeria following close behind. Arya did not know how to stop this from happening.

Yorko climbed down a net woven from rope and into the little row boat. He then went to try and help her down.

"I got it," she huffed with frustration. She did not need help from people who kicked her off of ships.

As she descended down the net, she lost her footing in one of the holes and almost slipped. She had barely been able to catch herself and did not resist when Yorko went to help her on the rest of the way down.

Next was Nymeria, who proved to be a struggle. A man had to help Gendry lift her, and then another had come down to help her and Yorko bring the heavy direwolf onto the boat. Nymeria did not make it any easier on them. She was just as annoyed as Arya.

Gendry then started down the net with Yorko's assistance and she sat down and settled into the boat. She saw the captain had not lied. Their stuff was there, as well as what must have been the food that was promised.

Once everyone was in, no one spoke as Yorko rowed them to the shore with practiced strokes. Arya did not know how he managed to avoid collision with the rocks. They seemed to be everywhere.

She was first to hobble out of the boat that suddenly felt so small, eager to get away from one of the people who had angered so. She stomped through the shallow water, not caring about getting wet. Nymeria followed suit, and so did Gendry, though he seemed to have a better tolerance of Yorko and stayed to bid him farewell as well as to get their things.

Arya collapsed into the sand with a grunt while she waited for Gendry to join her. She was on her back, her limbs outstretched, ignoring how grimy her sandy clothes felt against her skin and instead choosing to focus on watching the clouds mold and arrange themselves in the high sky above her.

How had this happened? The question repeated over and over again in her head.

When he finally finished with Yorko, Gendry came up beside her and dropped down into a similar position to hers.

They lay in a brooding silence for some time, but then he finally broke it with, "Well, shit."

Arya thought that summed up things quite nicely.


	13. To Jon

**AN: Not much to say about this one. Thanks to all who reviewed/followed/favorited, as usual! I do enjoy hearing from you. Now, onto the story...**

The going was slow. It seemed as if they would never get to the Wall. To Jon.

But Arya did not think that was the worst of it, at least not at the moment. Her priorities would probably be sorted out once she was warmer again.

It had been a windy day, and a steady drizzle had continued into the night.

Arya shivered, even under all of the variety of clothes she had layered over herself. She wore her usual attire, but with the addition of a second shirt, for one felt too thin. And then she was wrapped up in a cloth cloak, a fur cloak, Gendry's cloak, and then of course their blankets.

Even curling up to Gendry and his almost inhuman warmth could not keep the chill away.

She could not take it any longer. "I'm trying the fire again," Arya said finally.

She slipped out of Gendry's arms and his cloak, and immediately was assaulted with the cold's bite. She tugged her damp cloak tighter around herself and ignored the instinct to crawl back under the furs.

Gendry sighed. "It's just going to go out again."

"I don't care!" Arya told him while she tried to find some new sticks for the fire. "It's too cold. I have to try." She was getting annoyed, with the weather, the fire, and him. It irked her that he was not as affected as her by the rain and what felt like below freezing temperatures.

"You'd be better off trying to get some sleep."

"How can I? It's freezing, Gendry!" She dropped down to her knees in front of where the dead fire lay and began to try to breathe life back into it. "I can barely feel my fingers! Not everyone has your impossible tolerance to the cold!"

She threw the sticks down with a huff when a spark would not ignite. She turned to Gendry and directed her frustration to him. "How is it that you are faring better than me? You grew up in the south for god's sake!"

"Maybe that's why," he joked. "I soaked up all the sun."

Arya was not amused. She was about to demand he give the fire a try when something stopped her.

Little white flurries fell down from the sky. She watched with awe as they fell down onto her open and waiting fingertips.

_Snow. _It had been so long.

Hundreds of memories flooded through her head at once. Her mother smiling down at her with snowflakes in her hair, her father reminding her to wear her cloak, making snow angels with Bran and Rickon, molding a replica of Winterfell's castle walls with Sansa, snowball fights with Jon and Robb, their familiar laughs ringing through her ears…

"Snow," Gendry said in amazement, sitting up from the ground with interest.

His voice broke her out of her reminiscing. She smiled at her nostalgia and also at Gendry's amusing curiosity, his hands reaching out to catch the flurries.

"Have you ever seen it before?"

He shook his head ever so slightly. "It's beautiful."

"It is," she agreed as she looked up at the little white flakes in the dark sky.

She sat beside him and huddled close, even though she was no longer concerned about the cold.

Together, they silently watched the snow come down to lightly coat the grass around them. Her eyes wandered over to him occasionally to see the raw wonder apparent on his face. It's all so new to him, she thought.

They stayed like that for a long time. It could have been minutes, hours, or days, Arya did not know. She was lost in the snow. Lost in a time where everything was simple and nothing was complicated. Lost in a time where there was no pain and no loss.

"I miss home," she said suddenly. She didn't know why she shared that with him, or why she did it then. She hadn't even been aware that the feeling had been so present in that moment. But it was. It always was.

His eyes tore away from the snow for the first time and turned to her. "I know," he said. He pulled her closer and she rested her head on his shoulder. She felt his lips press comfortingly atop of her head, and then his own head moving to rest lightly over hers.

She fell asleep like that sometime later. The last thing she remembered was the feel his strong arms holding her close, and the snow in her lashes that finally fluttered closed…

Arya's dreams were filled with home that night. With Winterfell, direwolves, snow, and her family.

* * *

After Arya sent Nymeria off into the woods, she and Gendry set out to explore Mole's Town. Her first impression was that it was small. Well, she was wrong, because over half of the town was underground.

The brothel was nothing but a shack on the surface, but beneath it was a dank cellar, lit by candles that hung high onto the walls. It was decorated with extravagant looking furniture. Red and orange curtains were draped about, and printed rugs lay on the floor that really brought the place together. It really livened up the room, to the point where Arya almost forgot they were in cellar.

Though, some of the credit had to go to the women, with their pretty, bright smiles and cheerful energy.

Now, it probably wasn't the best idea to bring your… well, she still did not know what Gendry was to her. Lover made her cringe and friend was not enough. Nothing was right.

The point was that it was obviously a stupid plan to bring Gendry to a brothel. But they had been unable to find an inn, and besides, she trusted him.  
But it was still hard to keep herself from flinching every time someone would throw themselves at him. How many times must she or Gendry clarify that they were there just for a room? Apparently, ten.

She had counted.

They sat next to each other at a table and drank their ale, waiting for their meal. If she had not been so hungry, she would have just dragged Gendry up to their room and stayed there for the rest of the night, where no one else would get the chance to offer to fuck the person she was in love with.

But living off of stale bread and moldy cheese for the past month made a real meal sound too tempting to pass on.

Arya tapped her fingers on the wooden surface of the table, unable to sit still and be patient. "What is taking so long?"

Gendry merely shrugged and took a sip of his ale.

A blonde approached then. Great, another, Arya thought.

As she got closer, she realized she was really beautiful. _Really _beautiful. Perhaps even more beautiful than her sister. That made her uneasy.  
She was tall, possibly on level with Gendry. Her doe eyes were brown, but speckled generously with gold, giving her warmth. Not like mine, Arya thought begrudgingly, grey and cold…

Arya tensed as the girl sat beside Gendry and immediately went to run her hand along his arm. She seriously considered murdering her right then and there.

"What's your name?" she asked in an overly seductive manner, causing Arya to roll her eyes.

Gendry shifted away from her with a forced smile. "I'm not anyone. We're just here for the ale and the rooms. Nothing else."

"Oh, come on," she pouted. "You could—"

"Gods!" Arya snapped as she slammed her mug loudly down on to the table in frustration. "He said no, okay? Take a hint and go find someone else to fuck you."

She regretted it as soon as she saw the fear flash in the girl's eyes before she scurried off. Arya sighed and took a long swig of her ale. She should not have yelled at her like that.

She suddenly felt Gendry's eyes on her. She turned to see that he was clearly amused and barely containing his laughter. It only annoyed her further.

"What?" she snapped at him.

He grinned stupidly. "You're jealous."

She was quick to deny it. "I am not!"

"You are."

"I'm not," she lowered her voice this time, but remained just as serious and adamant.

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender, and tried unsuccessfully to conceal his smile. "But if you were—"

"I'm not," she repeated.

"But if you were," he started again. "There is no reason to be. It's only you. It always will be."

His hand found hers underneath the table, threading their fingers together. Arya felt the tension leave her body in an instant. He was there and he was hers.  
She squeezed his hand because she doesn't know what else to do or what else to say.

Their moment was interrupted by a young girl who brought out their food. Her grey eyes wandered away from his blue as a plate was set before each of them.  
They sat in a comfortable silence and focused on eating. Their hands remained entangled throughout the entire meal. And Arya was sure she was smiling like an idiot.

* * *

It was nice to have slept in a bed again. Her back certainly thanked her for it. But she had to admit that was not the only reason for her good mood.

Gendry's arms held her close, even in sleep. Arya thought he hadn't let go once in the night.

She felt calm in his embrace. Relaxed. Their bodies seemed to mold perfectly against one another, her back pressed against his chest, his fingers intertwined with hers. Things were good between them.

After they had finished their meal the night before, he led her up to bed. No doubt it was his words from earlier that had led them to be so tender and loving with one another. His lips were soft and sweet against her skin, and her own touches and caresses had not lacked warmth. But even so, there had been an intensity she could not explain. It had meant something.

They were it for each other, and they both came to know that in the moment.

Arya slipped out of the man in question's arms and off the bed, careful not to disturb his sleep on the way. She made over to their things on a hunt for fresh clothes and quietly began to shuffle through it all.

Gendry was not the only thing contributing to her new sense of ease.

She was close. If she could find them horses, and they rode fast, she could be at Castle Black by nightfall.

She could be with Jon that very night.

And once she was with Jon, everything would be okay. Right?

It had to be.

After she dressed, she slipped through the door and padded down the cellar halls to the main room.

On the way, a few groggy men brushed passed her in a hurry to leave the place. None of them wore black, much to her disappointment. That could have made things easier for her.

Arya had heard somewhere that some of the men of the Night's Watch would sometimes frequent here, but so far she had not learned that to be true. Weren't they supposed to take vows of celibacy, anyway?

Not many were awake yet. She only saw one girl. She was at the bar, pouring tea from a pot into her cup and nibbling on some toast. Maybe she would know where she could buy a horse.

Arya went to sit beside her and forced a smile. "Could I have some?" she asked with a gesture to the tea.

The woman didn't look up from her toast as she addressed Arya. "You don't want this tea, honey."

Wow, thanks for making this easier on me, Arya thought with annoyance. "Tastes that bad, then?" she said instead. This small talk thing was hard.

"No, not that. It's moon tea."

Arya thought that rang a bell somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. "Moon tea?"

"Yeah, you know," she said as she tore off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth. "A cup a day keeps the baby away."

Well, that had captured Arya's interest. "Really?"

She nodded her confirmation and brought the cup up to her lips.

"So, you're saying that you drink the moon tea once a day, and you can, er—"

"Fuck?"

"Yes, and there is not even a slight chance you'll end up with child?"

She waved that away. "A thousand men could fuck you and nothing would happen."

"Huh."

That was interesting, really interesting. If it truly worked, she and Gendry could fully be together. But Arya wasn't about to risk it just because of something a stranger had told her. She made note to research this further.

"Hey, are you the one they're talking about?" the woman said suddenly. "The one who yelled at Jen?"

Jen must be the blonde. "Er…"

"The poor thing. You really scared her."

"I, uh—"

"It's not entirely your fault. She's like a rabbit, always getting spooked at everything. A bit daft, if you were to ask me."

"Well, I… uh, feel bad about it…" Arya felt uncomfortable with this subject. "Right, so the reason I came over here was to ask you if you knew where I could buy a horse. Two would be better, really."

"You could ask James. He's a farmer, one of my regulars. He might sell you one."

"Okay, where can I find him?"

The woman began to give her directions to find this James person. Not only was he a farmer, but he also ran a small tavern. She said she would find him there in the afternoons.

As she finished up, Gendry stumbled half-awake into the room. Arya's heart did a little skip as she took him in, disheveled hair and tired eyes and all. He always looked good to her.

It almost annoyed her that he had this effect on her. How many times had she laughed at Sansa or Jeyne Poole for fawning over boys like this?

"Oh, is he the one you don't want putting a baby in you?"

Gendry seemed to wake up at the woman's rather loud comment, his eyebrows practically flying off his forehead. Where was the nearest ditch? Arya had the urge to crawl in it and die.

She reacted quickly and jumped up from her seat. She flew over to Gendry and grabbed his hand. "Thanks for your help!" she said as her farewell to the woman as she dragged him away to their room. She wanted to get their stuff and find James and get as far away from this awkward situation as possible.

"What was that about?" he asked curiously while they made their way through the halls.

"Uh, nothing. She just knows someone who will sell us some horses."

"It didn't seem like you were discussing horses."

"Well, we were."

"Okay," he said, though it was obvious he did not believe her.

"We were," she said again. "There is this man. James. I want to find him. If he'll sell us the horses, we can be at the Wall tonight."

"Tonight?" he asked, surprise evident in his tone.

"Yes, tonight."

* * *

They did not reach the Wall that night.

Not because they couldn't. James was at the tavern, just like the woman said he would be. He had sold them two strong mares, ones that could easily make the fast ride to Castle Black. But Arya had kept them in a steady walk.

She was nervous. The last few times she had sent Nymeria off on her own, she had returned within hours of Arya's resumed travel. And the direwolf had yet to show all day.

She had decided to stop early for the night. It would give Nymeria a chance to catch up, and though Arya would not care to admit it, she thought perhaps she might have a dream that would give her some idea of her whereabouts.

Was she crazy? She asked herself this as she lay down for the night, curling up into Gendry's side.

She wasn't sure. She and Nymeria definitely had a... bond, so to speak. Sometimes she could swear the direwolf could understand her, felt her presence, was affected by her. When she had been lost in grief over Robb and her mother, it was as if she shared her pain.

And the dreams. Gods, she did not know what to think of the dreams. It was as if Arya was inside her, controlling her, a part of her. They felt so real.  
She wondered if any of her other siblings ever had a similar connection to their direwolves. Jon was the only one left that remained with his direwolf, or so she assumed. He had never replied to her letter that she had sent at Riverrun.

Jon was fine, though. He had to be.

And she was sure Ghost was following at his heels at the very moment. When she got to the Wall, maybe she would summon the courage to ask him about it. She didn't have to hide things from Jon. He wouldn't scoff and say she had gone mad. He would listen like he always had back at Winterfell.

The both of them had never really fit in. She was no lady and Jon was always quick to say he was no Stark. They were the outcasts and they had stuck together.

But even she had to admit that she had fit in better than him. Arya always had thought that it didn't have to be that way. She thought that if he had really tried, it could have been different. If he had talked to their father and told him how he felt, how much he truly was suffering, then maybe he would have gotten the Stark name.

But she knew, now. It did have to be that way. It would have destroyed her mother more than Jon's constant presence already had, and her father would never be able to bring himself to cause his wife any more pain. And perhaps Jon couldn't bring himself to, either…

That was her last thought before sleep took her.

The trees were blurs around her, her paws crunched leaves with every swift leap forward. She sensed her. She could smell her. She was near.

But there was something else. There was a different scent.

It was subtle, but familiar. She stopped dead in her tracks as she recognized it.

_Her pack.  
_  
Four growling wolves appeared through the trees. They were angry. She had abandoned them.

But she had to. It was _her_.

A low growl came from her own mouth. It was a warning. It was a command for them to back away.

But they did not obey.

One came at her, teeth bared and ready to bite. She did not back down from the fight and met her halfway, pinning her down on the ground. She snapped at her neck and the wolf whimpered, then retreated off into the trees.

The second attack took her by surprise. The remaining three wolves all at once charged from behind and knocked her onto the ground. They wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand. She was bigger, but could not take all three at once. Realizing this, she tried to escape from the tangle of wolves. She needed a way to fight one at a time.

She was distracted by trying to find an opening to get away and let herself become vulnerable. She was thrown onto her back and teeth sunk into her neck, her own yelp of pain echoing through her ears before everything went to black.

Arya shot up from the ground, breathing heavy and her body slick with sweat. Nymeria, she thought.

Tears swelled in her eyes. She was dead. No, it couldn't be.

"Are you okay?"

Gendry's concerned voice pulled her away from her thoughts. She turned her head to see he was sitting up beside her. With one look at her distraught state, his hand went out to touch her cheek.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, his thumb darting out to gently brush a single fallen tear away.

He thought she had a nightmare. Arya wished it had been.

She forced her voice not crack as she said it aloud, "Nymeria is dead."

* * *

Arya had wanted to continue the ride to the Wall after her dream. There was no point in sitting around. It was a waste of time. Nymeria was dead. She would never catch up.

But Gendry convinced her- no, she took that back. He _forced _her to stay for the rest of the night. He said she needed sleep, but Arya knew he was not so certain that Nymeria was truly gone and thought she might return to them in the night.

She did not blame him. It was a dream, and most did not take them so seriously. But Arya felt it in her gut. It was real.

She wondered if he thought she had completely lost it. If he did, he did not let it show. When she told him about the dream, he simply listened and nodded his head. He had not said she had gone mad, nor even that it had just been a dream.

But to be fair, she had not told him that she had been _inside _the direwolf. Instead, she made it sound as if she had watched it all from the sidelines. If she had told him, then surely he would have thought her insane.

Arya woke early that morning after an uneasy slumber, eager to get on their way. As she struggled with strapping their pack onto her horse, Gendry stumbled over to help her, apparently having finally woken sometime during her battle with belts and bindings.

"Let me," his tired voice told her. Arya was weary and rather irritated with the saddle, so she did not fight him when his hands went to shoo her own away from the straps.

"I think it's broken. Do you see how the belt is bent there?" She pointed to the little stick of metal that was indeed slightly curved, making it difficult to slide it through one of the holes in the leather strap.

"I see it," he said. His fingers bent it in the right way just long enough to get it through the hole.

Arya grit her teeth at how simple it was for him and how troublesome it had been for her. He finished with the saddle and turned to her with a grin. "I'm sorry, but did I just accomplish something that Arya Stark could not?"

"Don't look so smug. We can't all be giant oafs with the unnatural strength to bend metal."

"Unnatural strength, huh?"

The idiot had taken it as a compliment. "Oh, whatever. The metal was worn, clearly weakened. It's probably tens and tens of years old… I'm sure many could have— " She stopped as she realized her ramblings were only making his grin wider. "Ugh, forget it. Can we please get going?"

His smile faded and Arya could tell he was amidst an internal debate, deciding whether or not to say what he wanted to say. But he didn't have to; she already knew what was on his mind.

He finally spoke, "Arya, maybe—"

"Nymeria's not coming back, Gendry," she told him softly. "She's gone. I've accepted that and now you need to, too."

He didn't say anything for some time. Instead, he simply stared at her, searching her face. Arya wasn't sure why, maybe to see if she really had accepted her direwolf's death, or perhaps to decide if he wanted to accept it as well.

"Let's go," he said at last.

And so they did. They rode in a steady gallop, for Arya could not pace herself at a walk, or even a trot.

She was close to Jon. The one she had missed the most throughout it all. The one who had always been there for her, who had always accepted her the way she was. The one who mussed her hair and gave her Needle. Her last remaining brother. And he was so near.

When Castle Black came into view, Arya urged her horse faster and faster, but it was never fast enough.

"Arya, wait!"

She heard Gendry's calls and knew of his struggle to keep up, but she ignored him.

She smiled widely and pulled her horse to a halt as she approached the gates. She was there. She was actually there!

Arya turned to Gendry behind her, who came riding through the dust her horse had left in its path. "We made —"

She was cut off by an unexpected sharp pain in her shoulder. An arrow had gone straight through her. She barely had time to see it as she was sent right off her horse from the impact.

"Arya!" she heard Gendry shout in the distance.

She was falling backwards, and was not prepared to catch herself in anyway. The back of her head crashed against something painfully hard, and then everything went to black.

**AN: Sorry for the cliffhanger! I think I might have another Gendry chapter next. I wasn't planning on doing one so soon, but I also didn't plan on enjoying writing from Gendry's POV so much. **


	14. Wake Up

**A/N: Okay, so I fucked around with the timeline a bit. Jon has returned from beyond the wall and is Lord Commander. The wildlings have not attacked. Sam is there. And so is Ghost. Onto the story... Gendry POV, by the way.  
**  
He hadn't seen the arrow coming. He had not seen it whipping through the air, aimed straight for her.

"Arya!" Gendry called out as it went right through her shoulder.

He caught the brief confusion and the flash of pain in her eyes as she went crashing to the ground.

And then he was running. He didn't remember when he had gotten off his horse and started towards her. The only thought he had was Arya.  
Arya, Arya, Arya. It repeated in his head over and over again, like some sort of prayer.

He knelt beside her. She lay still and her eyes were closed. _No._

The arrow was lodged into her shoulder, and a good amount of blood gushed from the wound, staining her shirt red. But it could not be enough to be fatal.

"Arya, please be okay," he said, begging for a response. He pulled her into his arms in a panic. There was a voice in the back of his head that told him that it would be the last time he would ever get to hold her.

He cradled her head and that was when he saw the blood. It continued to rush out, coating her dark locks and now his hand. His eyes darted to the red stained rock where her head had just lain.

The arrow was not enough to kill her, but this was.

"Arya, please," he said again, tears swelling in his eyes. "Please, I love you. You have to wake up, please."

"It can't be," someone's shocked voice said.

Through his blurred vision, he looked up to see a man was kneeling beside him. Gendry barely noticed the rest of the surrounding men. He had not known when these people in black with readied crossbows and unsheathed swords had joined him.

"No," the man said quietly, the beginnings of tears shining in his eyes. "She can't be…" he trailed off, unable to say the rest. His hand reached out to touch Arya's wrist. He was checking her pulse, he barely managed to think. He should have done that.

A relieved smile spread across the man's face and his body visibly relaxed. "She's alive."

Gendry felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He had never felt relief like this. She was okay. Arya was okay!

The man went to take Arya's limp body from Gendry's arms. "Wait," he said, desperately trying to keep his hold on her, and his voice still shaky from the previous events. "What are you doing?"

"Taking her to Maester Aemon."

A maester sounded like a good idea, but Gendry didn't know who this guy was. He wasn't just about to let him take her away. "I'll carry her," he said as he stood up. He pulled her up with him, one hand settling underneath her knee and the other supporting her back.

The man looked at him oddly for some time but relented. And so they walked through the gates, Arya safe in his arms. He glanced down from time to time to remind himself she was there and she was alive. She looked so small, cradled against him. Broken.

"Um, Lord Commander?" one of the surrounding men suddenly spoke up. "I don't mean to, er, question orders or whatever. But, why are we taking a wildling to the maester?"

"Because she's not a wildling," the man said easily. "She's my sister."

He had not been thinking straight enough to see it. But he did now. This man had the Stark look. The same dark hair and grey eyes that Arya and her father had shared.

"You are Jon," Gendry said as he came to the realization.

"Yes, and who are you?"

"Gendry."

* * *

Maester Aemon was blind, and Gendry was very clearly apprehensive about this. How was he going to get the arrow out?

What if he accidently nicked an artery and she bled out? What if he gave her the wrong medicine? What if, what if. It went on and on.

But Jon was Arya's brother. He would not let anything happen to her.

And so he watched as the old maester and his fat steward, who looked a little queasy at the sight of all the blood, which also did nothing to calm Gendry's nerves, went about mending her wounds.

She had been brought underneath the rookery, where the maester's wing was apparently located. The room felt dank and cold, even with the burning hearth only a few steps away.

She lay on the bed that was situated against the center of a wall, still unconscious. Gendry thought perhaps that was for the better, so she would not feel the arrow being torn from her flesh.

They checked the trauma to her head first, and then the maester deemed the arrow more important. He said the blow to her head wasn't too bad, and definitely not fatal. And apparently, there was not much they could do but wrap it up with gauze. So, they went to work at her shoulder.

He half expected Jon to send him away when they began to cut her shirt out of the way, but he never did. It was only pulled down just off her shoulder, anyways. Enough to reveal the entirety of the wound and the very beginnings of her breast, but Gendry thought it did not show anything more than some of the dresses he had seen her forced into on occasion had.

He flinched when they began to cut out the arrow. Jon stood beside him, shifting from one foot to the other, anxious to help his sister, but could not do anything.

"We should get some boiling wine," the steward said.

"What, why? It can't be infected already, Sam," Jon told the steward. He grimaced and Gendry knew he was thinking of the pain. "She doesn't need to go through that. I speak from experience here."

This time the maester spoke, "It's just to be safe. It's better to do it now rather than later when it's already festered and too late. Samwell, go fetch the wine."

"Should I get milk of the poppy as well, my lord?" Sam asked.

"No," Maester Aemon answered. With that, Sam was headed out of the door.

"No?" Gendry repeated, aghast. "What if she wakes up?"

Jon agreed with him. "He's right."

"We can't. It's not safe to give people with head injuries milk of the poppy. There's a chance she won't ever wake again. We don't want to risk it."

"But—" Jon started.

"It's not safe."

Jon looked put out but didn't say anything else. Gendry's gaze flickered over back to Arya. She did not look like she was in pain, maybe even peaceful if she did not look so broken. But any peace she had would not last.

When Sam returned with the wine, Gendry sat in a chair he had dragged over to her bedside. He took her hand in his. He wanted to be there if she woke up.  
Jon stood behind him and cringed visibly as the boiling hot wine was poured slowly into the gash on her shoulder.

He waited for her to wake up screaming, to crush the bones in his hand, to beg him to make them stop. But it never happened. The only reaction Arya had was to jerk slightly off the bed at first contact, and then her head fell to the side into her pillow ,with a slight whimper escaping her lips, but never once did she wake.

He didn't know if that was good or bad.

Then Sam and the maester dressed both the wounds on her shoulder and on her head. They also checked to make sure nothing had broken from the fall from her horse. All of the bones were intact and in all the right places, but the maester said she would expect some bruising.

"When will she wake up?" Gendry asked as they worked. His eyes were fixed on his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the soft skin of her hand. Please, wake up, he thought to himself, or rather to Arya. I need you to wake up. But of course, she could not hear his plea.

He finally felt Jon's curious eyes on him, and met them ever so briefly. He was watching him, he realized. He told himself to let go of Arya's hand, but his body refused to listen. He could not bring himself to let go. He was afraid that if he did, she would slip away.

He did not meet Jon's gaze again, suddenly finding the ground very intriguing.

"It's hard to say," the maester told him. "A day, maybe two."

"Two days?" Jon panicked, no longer bothered with his curiosity of Gendry. "She's not in a… coma or something, is she?"

"I don't believe so. But she hit her head badly, Jon. She will wake up, though. I am sure of it."

Gendry couldn't even fathom the idea of the maester being wrong. Arya had to wake up.

He didn't know what he would do if she did not.

* * *

That night, Gendry watched as Jon Snow dipped a rag into the basin of water that sat on the small nightstand beside the bed. He rang it out so it would not drip before bringing it over to a sleeping Arya's forehead.

He sat on the edge of the bed, across from Gendry. He gently wiped away the dirt and splattering of blood that had somehow gotten onto her cheek. The rag left a trail of moisture as it went down her neck to clean the pool of red just surrounding the bandaging on the arrow wound.

Jon sighed as he worked. "The person I missed most in all of the realm appears at the gates and one of my brothers shoot her with an arrow."

Gendry clenched his jaw from his chair. He realized he was making a fist, and had to let go of her hand now, in fear of crushing it. "Do you know who did it?"

"Yes," was all the he said.

"And?"

"You don't expect me to tell you, do you? You look about ready to kill him."

"I'm not going to kill him," Gendry said, but in truth he had been thinking about it. He would never have gone through with it, though. He was not the vengeful type. That was Arya. Not him.

But if she had died… well, there was no doubt in his mind that he would kill the man who had taken her life.

But that's not what happened. She was fine, and he understood it was an accident. Whoever it was, he had thought she was a wildling. And it was their job to keep the wildlings at bay, after all.

"It's better if you do not know," Jon said. "Trust me. I barely restrained myself from strangling him throughout all of his apologies."

Jon handed the rag to him, and Gendry looked at him in question.

"Your hands," he explained. "They have blood on them."

Gendry looked down and saw that, indeed, they were stained red. He hadn't even noticed. He began to use the rag to wipe it all away. It felt cool against his skin, soothing. He found it calmed the nerves that were remained frayed.

"Your clothes as well. I can find you some clean ones."

"There's no need. I have others. In the pack, it's tied to our horses—shit, the horses! I forgot them. I left—"

Jon smiled for the first time and let out a low chuckle. "It's okay. Some of the men already brought them into the stables. I'll get someone to bring you your stuff."

"Thank you, my lord." Gendry wasn't quite sure why he added that title on the end. He supposed he did not want to offend Arya's brother, for one. And he had addressed the rest of her family by their proper titles. But Gendry wasn't even sure if he _was _a lord. Well, he was Lord Commander, so… He wondered briefly why Arya had not told him her brother was the Lord Commander.

"Jon is fine, thank you. I'm no lord, after all."

Gendry smiled widely at the familiar sentiment.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, you just sounded so very much like Arya right then."

Jon laughed. "After all this time, my dear sister has still not become a proper lady, has she?"

"No," Gendry answered easily.

"Good," Jon grinned. "She is better this way."

"How did you manage to befriend Arya, anyways?" Jon said after a brief pause. "Are you one of Robb's knights?"

"No, I was a smith's apprentice before I met her, in King's Landing. I met her when she escaped there."

"Oh. How did she escape? In her letter, she didn't tell me much of anything about what had happened to her. She just said she was okay and something about her sword being taken away in one of her… attempts to return home, I think was what she said?"

Gendry didn't know how much she would want him to tell Jon. He doubted she would want him to know about all she had endured. He doubted she would want Jon to fuss over her. "She posed as a Night's Watch recruit. Yoren, I don't know if you knew him, but he was planning to drop her off at Winterfell."

"But she's a _girl_," Jon said.

"She dressed as a boy, though. And she cut her hair … I don't know how she managed to convince everyone else she was a boy, really."

"So you were there, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, what happened? Yoren never returned."

"He died. There were… complications." Gendry did not want to tell him about the gold cloaks, for if he did then he would have to tell them why they had come. And he did not want to tell him he was Robert Baratheon's bastard, nor did he want him to think him a criminal. He also did not want to tell him that his little sister had fought men that night, or that she had killed for him.

"What kind of complications?"

"I'm sure Arya will tell you all what happened, when she wakes up." If she wants, he added silently to himself. In truth, he was not sure Arya would tell Jon anything at all. She would probably avoid the conversation until the end of time.

There was a long silence. Jon's troubled gaze was fixed on Arya. Gendry saw his anguish clear on his face. "There was something else… in the letter, I mean. She thanked me for giving her Needle, and… _you inadvertently saved my life, among others_. That was what she wrote."

Gendry stayed silent. There was nothing he could say that would make him feel better. It would have only made it worse.

Jon realized he was not going to answer, and his eyes lifted from Arya and focused on him. "Did she kill someone, Gendry?"

More than one someone, Gendry thought. But he did not say that. He did not say anything at all, but his silence was answer enough.

"I knew... I just didn't want to believe it," Jon said as he mourned his little sister's innocence. "It's sad… what the war has done to us all, you know? All of the things we've had to do to survive…" Jon's eyes grew distant and faraway as he spoke those last few words.

Gendry wasn't sure if Jon was talking about Arya anymore. But he understood. Before the war, things had been different. He had just been a bastard who spent his days making swords and brooding about the shitty life he had been dealt.

But now… Gendry had killed. He had stolen. And the gods knew he had certainly lied. But all of those things had been done to survive, to protect Arya and her identity, and he supposed his own identity too.

A direwolf padded through the open door then, successfully breaking him away from his thoughts. The white ball of fur made his way over to Jon, and Gendry noticed the red eyes for the first time. Not like Nymeria and Grey Wind's yellow, he thought.

Jon greeted him by running his hands through his fur, taking special care to scratch him behind his ears.

Ghost suddenly turned to Arya, curious. He nudged his muzzle against her hand, as if to wake her. When she did not move, he whimpered and jumped up onto the bed and curled up protectively at her feet.

"I'm tired," Jon said before he moved to stand up from the bed, the exhaustion audible in his voice. He almost sounded as broken as Arya looked. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night. I can find you a room—"

"No, that's okay. I think I'll stay."

"All night?"

"Yes," he answered carelessly, but then he caught himself. "I mean… if it's okay with you."

Gendry thought for a second he was going to say no. But then all he said was, "Just… let me know if she wakes."

Gendry nodded. "I will."

Jon returned the nod and headed for the door. Ghost jumped down from the bed to follow but Jon stopped him. "No, Ghost. You stay with Gendry and Arya."

The direwolf tilted his head as if to ask why, but retreated back to the bed without waiting for his answer. As Jon left, he was careful to leave the door open, which Gendry thought was funny, because the only person who would wander past the room was _blind.  
_  
But Gendry was not offended and did not blame Jon, not for the direwolf or the door. He was a stranger to Jon, and was being left alone with his unconscious sister. Gendry would have done the same.

As he sat there alone, slumped in an uncomfortable chair, he realized that he was tired, too. He felt sore and drained, both emotionally and physically.

He tried to sleep in the chair. He really did. But sleep refused to come and there was a bed right there, just less than a foot away from him.

And so he began to crawl onto the bed with Arya. Ghost growled at him, so he made his movements slow and cautious. He prepared himself for some kind of attack, but nothing happened and the growling ceased as he lay down.

The bed was small and overcrowded while occupying two people and a direwolf, but he managed to fit.

He held Arya close like he did every night, though more carefully because she was injured. But unlike every other night, she did not respond to him. She did not rest her head on his chest. She did not sling her arm over his waist, or curl up into side. Nothing.

He wished she would wake up.

In all honesty, the bed was not really any more comfortable than the chair. He was cramped and the straw mattress was thin. But Arya was the only comfort he needed. The sound of her soft, even breaths, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her body next to his… It was all a reminder that she was alive.  
And that was all he needed to drift off into a deep, peaceful slumber…

* * *

He woke to something wet and warm on his cheek. His hand instinctively went up to push away the source of this disruption of sleep, and his fingers were met with something furry.

His eyes opened and focused onto Ghost, who hovered over him with his tongue out, threatening to lick him once more.

Gendry's eyes went to Arya on instinct, to see if she was awake. She wasn't.

He sighed and slipped his arm out from underneath her. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he sat up, forcing the direwolf to move off of him. He nearly fell off the bed in surprise when he saw Jon sitting in the chair across from him, watching his every move.

He froze.  
Jon was there. And he was in bed with Arya. With his unconscious sister!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"I was just sleeping, I swear. The chair—I couldn't sleep and it was uncomfortable, and there was a bed, right there, and it seemed stupid not to—"

"Stop for a second," Jon suddenly spoke.

Gendry thought it best to obey and stopped his ramblings. Jon didn't look angry, really. Or was he just trying to convince himself that?

"I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

Jon's words sent a flood of relief through him. He would live to see another day!

"I saw that yesterday when you were begging her to wake up," Jon continued. "I saw it when you carried her through the gates. I saw it when you held her hand. I saw it when I came in here this morning to find you curled around her, holding onto her as if she would fade away the very moment you let go." He paused before he asked, "Do you love my sister?"

Well, Gendry had not expected _that. _The question took him aback, but the answer was easy. "More than anything."

Jon seemed as if he was trying to come to grips with that. Understand it. "And does she… feel the same way?"

"She says she does."

"And you don't believe her?"

"No," he said after the slightest bit of hesitation. "I do." And he did believe her. But Arya put walls up, and it was struggle to get through them. She did not often share her feelings. She was never first to say "I love you". He knew she would rather cry alone than have him there to see. It did not come naturally to Arya to let people in. Perhaps it had been different before the war, before all the death and destruction, but now…

Arya herself had told him it was scary for her to love him. She was afraid she would lose him, just like everyone else.

"Do you wish to marry her?"

Gendry was even more taken aback by this question. "W-what?"

"Do you want to marry her?"

Of course, he had thought about it. Fantasized, even. But from what he understood, Arya hated marriage with a passion. And besides, he was a bastard. And lowborn. It didn't matter if his father had been the king, he had not acknowledged him.

"I would like to," he said, because it was the truth. "But I'm not sure marriage is something Arya wants."

"You might be right. But... you also might not. Arya does not want to marry a lord. She doesn't want to marry a stranger, or someone who would try to change her- turn her into a proper little lady. And most of all, she doesn't want to marry someone she does not love. And Arya… well, she never thought she would ever fall in love."

Gendry didn't have time to respond or even take in his words, for they were interrupted by a loud howl from Ghost.

"What is it, Ghost?" Jon asked.

The direwolf howled again and it was so loud that Gendry was tempted to cover his ears. He watched as Ghost flew out the door and disappeared down the hall, his cries travelling all the way back to Jon and Gendry in the room.

"What was that about?" Jon asked.

"I don't know. Should we—"

The maester's steward, Sam, barged in to the room, out of breath. He tried to say something, but his panting would not allow him to speak.

"Wildlings?" Jon asked.

Sam shook his head vigorously, still struggling to breathe.

Jon's eyes widened. "Others?"

Gendry wasn't sure if he had heard him right. The word had barely been a whisper. But he had heard it. Others. The monsters with ice blue eyes that existed solely to put fear into children. They were just a story.

But here Jon was, asking his friend if they were attacking.

Sam finally managed to speak. "No, not the Others. Something is clawing at the gate, snarling and growling, trying to break through. They think it's a small bear."

Jon looked befuddled. "A bear?"

"A _small _bear," Sam corrected.

Jon managed to look even more baffled. "Okay." He stood up and turned to Gendry. "I have to go deal with this. I brought in your stuff this morning," He motioned to the pack sitting atop the dresser. "Get changed and I'll send someone to wash your dirty clothes. I'll be back later."

And then he was left alone, only a sleeping Arya for company. He could hear Sam and Jon's voices fading as they descended further down the hall.

"If it's a baby bear, you're not going to kill it, are you?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, Sam."

Gendry realized he was still in bed. He nearly laughed at the fact he had been apologizing to Jon for being in bed without ever getting out of bed with his sister. No wonder Arya was calling him stupid all the time.

He wished she would call him stupid, now.

He made his way over to the dresser and shuffled through the entangled mess of both his clothes and Arya's. He stripped his current dirty, blood stained clothes and pulled on fresh ones. He went back over to Arya, and considered getting back into bed but ended up opting for the chair. Even if Jon had not been mad, Gendry thought it wise not to push him.

He sat there and watched her. She was so still. Usually in sleep, she would shift around quite a few times in the night. Not now, though. She was like a statue. Her body had not moved an inch from the night before.

The maester came in a few minutes later, bringing salves and herbs. He filled him in on the bear situation while he put the mixtures onto her wounds and changed her bandages.

"I could hear them from the rookery. I think Jon yelled for them not to shoot it," he told him. His voice was so soft Gendry found himself leaning in to listen. "It's so odd for animals to act this way. And it's affecting that direwolf of his, too. He will not stop howling."

"Yeah, I can still hear him." And it was giving him a headache. "Do you think she might wake up today?"

"Maybe. If not today, then tomorrow."

It was then when Jon and Ghost returned to the room, the white direwolf no longer howling. But was most surprising was who they brought with them.

"Who all just came in?" the maester asked him.

_Nymeria._

Nymeria was the bear, Gendry realized with a chuckle.

"It's me," Jon said. "And Ghost. And Nymeria."

"Who is Nymeria?"

"Arya's direwolf," Gendry answered.

"And part time bear," Jon added with a chuckle.

The yellow eyed direwolf trotted straight towards him, and he noticed she had a slight limp. It was not until she got closer that he saw the bite mark on her neck, the fur there caked with dried blood. Just like in Arya's dream, he thought. She had said that the other wolves tore her throat out.

Gendry gently stroked her fur as she came to him. She nuzzled her face into his leg before leaving him to hop up onto the bed with Arya. She lay at her feet, and rested her head on her ankle.

Gendry thought he saw sadness in those yellow eyes.

Wake up, Arya, he thought. Nymeria is alive. You must wake up.

"Maester Aemon," Jon started, sounding far away. "I know you usually work on… well, humans, but could you fix up a direwolf just as well?"

"I suppose so," he heard Maester Aemon answer.

Please, wake up.

* * *

It had been two night since they had arrived at Castle Black. It had been two nights and Arya had yet to wake up. Gendry grew more anxious with every passing second that she lay dormant on that bed.

He had not slept at all the night before. He sat there in that uncomfortable chair from dusk to dawn, waiting for her to wake up.

He didn't understand. The maester had said two days. Two days and she would wake up. But today was day three and Arya showed no sign of waking.

Jon came and went. Apparently, there was an impending wildling attack on the way and Jon was constantly dealing with that. They really had picked a good time for a visit to the Wall, hadn't they?

Even though Jon was constantly coming and going, Gendry never left Arya's side.

He knew Jon was concerned. He would try to get him out of the room many a times, usually for meals in the dining hall. But every time Gendry would decline, and so Jon had food brought to him three times a day, which he was insistent on him eating.

Gendry's appetite was shot. It took a surprising amount of effort for him to shovel it all down. Food was the last thing on his mind.

He didn't know what to do. He felt so helpless.

There was nothing he could do. Both Jon and the maester told him that enough times, hoping to get him out of the room. Of course, it never worked.

Besides trying to get him out of the room, Jon had also taken to asking him about Arya and the past two years. Gendry tried to deflect these questions as best as he could, but it was proving to be difficult. He stuck to telling him that Arya should be the one to answer his questions.

Gendry was beginning to suspect that Jon knew Arya was not going to give him real answers.

It was that morning when Jon asked him the question he truly did not know how to respond to.

He had brought him his breakfast, and sat down on a chair he dragged over beside Gendry, and watched him as he dutifully ate his scrambled eggs.

"Why did she come here, Gendry? Just tell me," he said finally. "Why isn't she with Robb and Lady Stark? Do they even know she's here?"

Gendry's forked slipped through his fingers and clattered loudly down onto the plate. _He didn't know.  
_  
They were dead and he didn't know. How did he not know? Surely, the Wall had gotten word of it. All of Westeros knew about it. Were they keeping it from him?

"Are you okay?" Jon asked.

Gendry swallowed the lump in his throat and attempted to compose himself. "I… yes."

Arya definitely should be the one to tell him about this.

It would be so hard for her. It would tear her apart. Maybe he should…

No, he couldn't. It was not his place. And Gendry could practically hear Arya telling him that she had to do this herself.

"I think… I think she just really needed you." This was not a lie. Not really.

Jon seemed to accept this. He nodded and turned his gaze over to Arya. "I wish she would wake up."

"Me, too."

**A/N: I promise Arya will wake up next chapter. Thank you for your lovely reviews. And for following and/or favoriting. Back to Arya POV next week!**


	15. Awake

**AN: I can't believe I've already written 15 chapters. I meant for this story to be about 20 chapters, but I can see now that's not going to happen. I'm going to try to finish it at 25, I think...  
****Thank you for following, favoriting, and just simply reading. And of course, thank you to my reviewers. I love hearing from all of you and it always brightens my day to hear that you guys really like this story. I promise I will keep it coming! If you haven't noticed the pattern, I usually post on Mondays or Tuesdays. **

Arya had never felt so peaceful, but she supposed it made sense. Home was peace, wasn't it?

She was in the godswood at Winterfell. She lay on her back, giving her a full view of the red leaves that swayed in the wind above her.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was high and the breeze gentle. The familiar sound of leaves rustling and the earthy smells of ancient dirt were all around her.  
Gendry was beneath her, her head resting in his lap. He was sitting up, his back leaned against the trunk of the heart tree. His fingers tangled through her hair, playing with her dark locks.

"You have to wake up," he told her, his voice sounding slightly reminiscent of a plea.

"I…" Her brows furrowed. "I can't." Why can't she?

"There are things you have to do."

What things?

Arya made the mistake to blink in confusion. Just in the time of the split second it had taken her to open and close her eyes, the world had changed around her. No longer was she in Winterfell with Gendry, but alone in unfamiliar circular room.

The walls were stone around her, housing four tall windows. No light came in through them. It was dark and empty, with the exception of the table in the center of the room. She stepped towards it in some unexplainable whim.

It had to be fifty feet long, and at least twenty wide. It was a map of Westeros, intricately carved and painted to display every city and every castle.  
Her fingers reached out to lightly trace Winterfell. _Home_, she thought.

She walked alongside the table as her fingers travelled down the map. She stopped at the little island she knew to be Dragonstone.  
She knew as her fingers settled there. That was where she was.

The large, double doors flung open and everything seemed to be in slow motion. An unknown man with a crown atop his head stumbled backwards into the room. His cloak was in disarray and his feet moved awkwardly atop the stone floor. She barely caught sight of his blue eyes. Those same blue eyes she had grown to love.

A tremor of fear shook through her as a massive lion came in prowling after the man. He let out a loud roar that chilled Arya to the bone.

Neither lion nor man seemed to notice her presence. They only saw each other.

The lion stalked forwards and the man stepped back, stopping as he ran into the edge of the table.

That man was going to die. She had to do something. But what?

Just then a blur of grey came out from behind her, coarse fur brushing against her shoulder as it flew past her. It was a wolf. No, she thought. A direwolf.  
Her eyes were wide as it lunged straight for the lion. She heard the sound of tearing flesh as the direwolf buried its teeth into the lion's golden mane. A yelp echoed through her ears.

And then she was awake.

The first thing she felt was pain. It was through her right shoulder and down her back. She also had a headache that could kill.

Her blurry vision came into focus. Gendry was there, asleep and slumped in a chair leaning against the wall across from her. There were two balls of fur curled up at his feet.

_Nymeria_, she thought. But no, Nymeria was dead.

Where was she? Her surroundings were unfamiliar. She remembered the Wall had been in view. Then… then there was an arrow and she had fallen off her horse. That sounded right. Then what?

She was in bed, half on her side and half on her stomach. She lifted herself carefully into a sitting position. She found it took an extraordinary amount of strength to do so. She felt so sore all over.

"Gendry…" her voice was hoarse. Water sounded heavenly at the moment.

Something clattered to the floor on the other side of the room. "Arya?"

The voice who answered her did not belong to Gendry, but to the person she had longed to hear the most ever since the day she had left Winterfell.  
She turned and saw Jon. He stood there over the tray of food he must have dropped in surprise, and Arya thought he looked just like she remembered. His familiar smile was there, his unkempt hair and grey eyes. It was all there. He was all there.

Tears glistened in her eyes just as they were in Jon's. She moved to jump out of bed and to him, but stopped midway when the world started to spin around her.

Her hand went to her head as the pain shot through her. Jon was suddenly at her side, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Be careful. You hit your head pretty hard."

She nodded and went to him again, this time much slower. She was pulled into his arms. Her head was tucked into the crook of his neck. His familiar scent was all around her. She could not believe he was there. "Is this a dream?" she whispered.

"No, but it does feel like one, doesn't it?"

She pulled back slightly so to look upon one another's faces. She turned to the sleeping Gendry and the direwolves at his feet. "But Nymeria-"

"Is fine. She got here two days ago."

Nymeria trotted over to her to prove Jon's point and Arya reached out a hand to pet her. She couldn't believe it was real. But she could not deny the fur beneath her palms, the warmth that meant life. Her companion was alive and well. The thought had her heart soaring.

_But my dream, _she thought. _She had died._ Instead, she asked, "Two days? How long have I been out?"

"Since you got to Castle Black. Today is the fourth day."

So, she was at the Wall. Why had someone shot her with an arrow at the Wall?

"Are you okay?" He began to bombard her with questions. "Should I get the maester? Do you remember what happened? Do you need anything?"

She smiled weakly. Her head throbbed and she was sure she was well bruised, but she tried to not let that show. "I'm fine. Some water would be good, though."

Jon got up and headed towards the dresser at her words. There was a pitcher of water there and a couple of glasses. Her gaze flickered over to Gendry as he poured her some. She wanted to wake him, talk to him, make sure he was okay.

Jon noticed. "He hasn't left your side," he said as he returned to the bed with her water.

Hopefully, he never does. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. The water felt like life itself flowing down her throat. She was gulping it down until Jon's hand was on the glass.

"Whoa, slow down there," he said. She let him take the water away and set it down on the nightstand.

Arya turned her attention back to Gendry. "He didn't get hurt at all, did he?"

"No, he's fine. Mostly."

Arya panicked. "Mostly?"

"Relax. He's fine. Well… I may have slipped him some milk of the poppy. Well, not some. A lot, really."

So, that was why he was asleep. Arya knew Gendry was a deep sleeper, but that tray Jon had dropped had been loud enough to wake someone from the grave. "What? Why?"

"He stopped sleeping. He just stared at you all night, waiting for you to wake up. You should have seen him. He looked terrible. Sick, really. I had to do something."

"Well, when is he going to wake up?"

"Soon. I put it in his drink last night and its morning, now."

Arya suddenly found this all so very amusing. "He's going to be mad," she said with a grin.

"He'll get over it," Jon said. He was right, but she shook her head in disapproval, anyways. "What is the story there, anyways? Really, Arya, you have always managed to befriend the most random people-"

"Gendry is not random," she interrupted. She almost said that she loved him, but she bit her tongue. She wasn't sure why. She didn't have to hide things from Jon. "He's my best friend," she said instead. Wanting to get the attention off of her, she changed the subject. "Jon, why didn't you reply to my letter? I was worried. I remember specifically telling you to write back."

He had the good grace to look sheepish. "Well, I wasn't here when it arrived. And then when I got back, I was expecting wildlings at the gate. I don't know what they are waiting for, really. I-"

"Okay, wait," Arya said, lost. "Where were you when the letter came? And what about the wildlings? They are attacking?"

"They haven't yet, but I expect they will soon. And I was beyond the Wall when your letter came. Mormont wanted me to go on the ranging with them. And then I was…" He trailed off for a moment before he continued. "I just got back a couple weeks ago. I'm really sorry, little sister. I didn't mean to worry you or Robb."

She didn't want to be angry with him. She had not seen him in over two years and she was not going to spend their time together holding a grudge. "It doesn't matter, now. You're here and you're okay."

Jon gave her a grateful smile and there was a brief silence until he broke it with, "Arya, what are you doing here? Believe me when I say I'm very glad to see you, but do Robb or Lady Stark even know you are here?"

Her face fell. He didn't know.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong? Should I get the maester?" He moved to stand from the bed, but Arya caught him by the arm. Her throat was dry. She needed more water. She was not ready to do this. When would she ever be ready to do this?

"I'm fine," she said as he sat back down. Tell him, she told herself. Just tell him. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Jon, some things have happened."

Concern was etched into his face. He knew whatever it was, it was terrible.

"Robb and Mother… they are dead."

Her heart broke as she watched everything flicker across Jon's face all at once. Anguish, loss, misery, denial, and just… pain. "What? How..?" He struggled to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. "It can't… How?"

"The Freys," she explained, her own eyes growing watery. "Robb was supposed to marry one of them and he didn't—" Her voice broke from a held back sob. "And they killed him for it. They killed everyone, Jon. Mother and all of our men… Everyone."

Jon could not hold back his tears any longer and they flowed freely down his face. His arms were around her and he collapsed into her. His face was buried into the crook of her neck, luckily on the side of her uninjured shoulder. She rested her head atop his as he cried. She closed her eyes and let her arms wrap around him to hold him close. Arya had thought she did not hold any more tears to shed for her mother and Robb, but she had been wrong. They slipped easily between her lashes to fall wet down her cheeks.

* * *

Exhaustion had set itself in Arya, which was ridiculous because she had just slept through four days.

She didn't know how long she and Jon had sat there on the bed, holding each other as if their hands were the only thing keeping them from shattering into a million pieces. They had stayed like that past the point where their tears had stopped. Perhaps they never would have moved if Maester Aemon had not come in to check on her.

That was when Jon left to continue his preparations for the wildling attack. Arya remained in the room and let the old maester look over her wounds, at her brother's insistence. She asked him if she could take off the bandage on her head that had grown to be particularly itchy. Maester Aemon had advised her against it, but did not stop her in the end. Though, he did not let her remove the one on her shoulder. After the maester had taken his leave, Arya stood over Gendry, amidst an internal debate.

He was still asleep. Gods, how much had Jon given him?

He did not look comfortable. Perhaps she should move him to the bed… No, that would be a disaster. She would probably drop him onto the floor, as well as wake him up.

But maybe she _should_ wake him up. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to go to bed, really. She wanted him to go to bed _with _her. Sleep just did not come so easily anymore without him next to her.

She decided against disturbing his sleep when her stomach growled. She thought she would go find some food, instead. If he was not awake when she got back, then she would wake him up.

She spotted their stuff on the dresser and made a beeline for it. She attempted to change her clothes, but winced in pain as she tried to pull her shirt over her head. She tried it again and she cursed under her breath.

This isn't going to work, she thought. She gave up on new clothes all together and grabbed her boots from their place on the floor, bending slowly so her sore and bruised back was not in complete agony.

She sat down on the foot of the bed and tried to slip her feet into the shoes without using her hands. She failed miserably and had to bend down to tug them on, gritting her teeth throughout it all.

She went back to the dresser and put her sword in her belt. She snatched her fur cloak with a huff of frustration, managing to get it over her shoulders. She quickly made with the clasp on her way to the door, Nymeria following at her heels. As she opened it, she was surprised to see someone standing on the other side.

A fat, black haired boy bundled in black furs stood before her, the layers making his already large body even larger. Arya thought perhaps he was a year or two older than Jon. "My lady…" he mumbled timidly.

"Don't call me that," she said on impulse.

It must have come out more harshly than she intended, for he looked down and nervously shifted off one foot to the other. "I'm sorry—"

Arya sighed. "No, it's fine. I didn't mean to snap. Today just has not been my day. And I'm hungry. For all I know, I haven't eaten in four days. So, if you don't mind..?" She gestured for him to get out of her path.

"Oh, of course." He stepped out of the way so she could pass.

"Thank you," she said and started down the hall. Where were the kitchens?

She heard footsteps behind her and stopped in her tracks. She turned to see the boy had been following her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Your brother told me to follow you, just in case someone tries something."

Arya frowned. First Robb and now Jon. Why couldn't they understand she didn't need guards? "I can protect myself. You don't have to follow me."

"Some of these men haven't seen a woman in years—"

"I don't care how many women they've seen over the years," she snapped. "I can take care of myself. And if you still continue to refuse to believe me, I have Nymeria to protect me." Who has a slight limp and stitches in her neck, she added silently to herself. Arya did not think that would help her case.

"I-I'm sorry. But Jon said… I cannot leave you," he said, final. Arya was surprised at the courage he had mustered for those last words.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," she bit out. She would talk to Jon later and sort this out, but for now, there was nothing to be done. "Can you lead me to the kitchens, then?"

He nodded and began to lead the way.

"You're going to be cold, you know," he said as they walked. "You need more than just one cloak."

Arya had the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll be fine."

* * *

Well, her "protector", who she knew now to be Sam, had been right. Arya had been freezing during the brief walk outside that was necessary to get to the kitchens.

She was sure it was below freezing, and the fact that it was snowing confirmed that suspicion. And it was not like the light dusting she and Gendry had caught that night during their travels to the Wall. It came down heavy and fell thick onto the ground. Arya could not spy a smidgen of grass beneath her boots.

As she trudged through the ankle deep snow, every face she passed would stare at her. They stopped whatever activity they had currently been in the middle of and fell silent, except from the occasional whisper Arya could not quite make out, but thought it safe to assume were about her.

She forced herself to ignore them for the most part, but the way some of them looked at her made her skin crawl. It was similar to how Arya thought she might look if someone were to place a lemon cake in front of her right now. Gods, was she hungry.

When she arrived in the overtly warm kitchens, she immediately went to remove her cloak. She moved her arm too fast and grimaced at the pain that shot through her shoulder. She did it slower this time and undid the clasp, letting the cloak fall off her shoulders.

One of the men brought her out a wooden chair and she thanked him while she put her cloak on the back before sitting down. Sam talked to the men for her and soon there was a tray in her lap that held a large bowl of steamy soup and a wedge of bread.

She scarfed it down too fast. She knew that while she was shoveling it all down her throat, but Arya found she didn't care. She was simply too hungry to care.

When her bowl was empty and the bread gone, she was tempted to ask for more food, but then her stomach did an unsettling twist and she decided against it. So, she and Sam headed back to the room.

Halfway through the walk to the room, she was slightly bent over, using the stone castle walls for support and retching into the snow.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. "Should I get Jon or the maester?"

Arya finished and her throat burned as she spoke, "No, I'm fine." She felt terrible, but she was fine. She started to continue to the room and beckoned him to follow, "Come on."

When they got back to the room, Arya closed the door behind her and hoped Sam would get the hint that she wanted to be alone. He did not try to enter.

She saw Gendry was still asleep on her way to the nightstand, snoring softly. She grabbed the glass of water there and took a few slow, tentative sips, not wanting to upchuck the contents of her stomach once more.

She set the water down and walked over to Gendry. "Wake up." Her hand outstretched to give his shoulder a shake. He shifted slightly and mumbled something in his sleep that sounded suspiciously like her name.

"Gendry," she tried, again. She shook his shoulder once more, and in sleep his hand grabbed her forearm to stop her. The other was around her waist and suddenly she was being pulled into the chair with him. Her back screamed in protest at the movement, but the pain lessened as she was set down.

His eyes never opened throughout it all. He mumbled something into her neck that definitely was her name and then he was completely gone again, back in his deep slumber.

Arya could not bring herself to pull away. She shifted to be more comfortable and rested her head on his. She ran her fingers softly through his hair. She would wait for him to wake up.

Her eyelids grew heavier as time passed and soon she was drifting off to sleep herself…

Arya sat on the ledge of the open window. She could see all of King's Landing this high up in the Red Keep. She could hear the birds calling in the sky. She could see the ships in the shores with their sails high and the children playing in the shallow waters. She could see the merchants and the beggars on the streets. She could see the great statue of Baelor the Blessed at the sept made in his name. She could see a figure on the steps, lying in a pool of blood and his head disjointed from his body.

That was her father, she knew.

She heard doors close behind her and she turned to see the source of the noise.

There was a girl, standing with her back to her, with red locks that cascaded down her dress. A direwolf walked back and forth at her legs, protective. She was guarding her.

There was a lion in front of her, licking its mouth. And Arya knew the girl was prey.

But the direwolf was not afraid and lunged right for the lion.

Her eyes fluttered open and she took in her surroundings. She was in the room still, but she had been moved onto the bed. The warm body she knew to belong to Gendry was beneath her, and she was tucked into his chest. She glanced up as she felt fingers threading through her hair.

He was awake, a small smile playing at his lips. "Hey."

"Hey," she said with a smile of her own.

"Why didn't you wake me when you woke up?"

"I tried, but you were being a stupid, stubborn bull."

Gendry laughed softly. "I'm sorry. I must have been really tired. I don't even remember falling asleep last night."

He didn't suspect a thing. She figured she ought to keep the peace between the men in her life. She kept her eyes down so he would not see the insincerity.

"Really?" she asked nonchalantly. "How odd." She felt his eyes on her, and she glanced up. She expected to see suspicion, but that was not what she found. In fact, she could not quite place what shone in his eyes. Love, maybe. Joy. Bliss. Relief, even. "What?"

"I just..." he started. Arya was surprised to see that his eyes grew a little watery. "I'm really happy you're awake."

She smiled and pushed herself slightly off the mattress to move up so she their faces were level. She leaned in slowly for a soft kiss. Her lips tingled as she pulled away. "I'm happy you're awake, too."

* * *

That night, Jon came to Arya and helped her move into the King's Tower. He looked worse than he did when he left her that morning, though now he wore a forced smile that was particularly weak. She did not know what to do to ease his suffering.

She thought the King's Tower was a little extravagant, but there really wasn't elsewhere for her to go. She didn't want to intrude on the maester any longer and she also did not want to share some cell with random men of the Night's Watch.

Jon offered to let her stay with him in the Lord Commander's Tower. That had been the first time Arya had heard anything about Jon being Lord Commander and so she then went on to give him hell about not sharing this new development with her. She regretted that at first, for he had learned just that day about the death of his brother as well as her mother's. Arya wondered if he mourned her, too.

Any qualms she had were forgotten when Jon cracked a smile sometime mid-rant. And not the forced kind, a real smile. Apparently, he found her tirade all so very amusing. This should have only made her more annoyed, but then he was laughing and so was she. Arya wasn't sure how that had happened.

She declined his offer to stay with him for two reasons. One, there simply wasn't room for her. There was not a spare bed. Two, she figured her brother might notice her absence when she sneaked off to wherever Gendry ended up residing.

The King's Tower had two rooms, joined by a solar. When she casually suggested Gendry should stay in the other room, Jon did not question it. Gendry had more than a reaction than her brother, almost tripping over a side table at the suggestion.

Arya could already hear Gendry telling her they could not share a bed. He would insist on sleeping in the separate rooms. Your brother, he would say, as if that explained it all. But she would convince him to stay in the end.

She was ready for bed by the time Jon left. And this did not fail to annoy her. She had just slept for almost four days _and _had a nap that afternoon. It was ridiculous. How could she be tired?

Gendry was fussing with the fire in her room while she tried to get out her dirty clothes.

She loosened the laces across her chest, thinking it might make things easier for her when she pulled the shirt over her head. She bit her lip, bracing herself as she began to slowly lift the hem. She stopped midway up her stomach. "Gendry?" she asked quietly.

"Yes?"

She turned around to see him kneeling by the flames, his concerned eyes on her. "I…" she trailed off. She swallowed her pride and continued, "My clothes… I can't do it myself." She finished weakly with, "It hurts."

He understood the silent question and wordlessly stood to come help her. Arya found herself watching him as he undressed her. His eyes locked with hers and it suddenly all felt so intimate.

His hands were gentle as he slowly positioned her elbow to maneuver the sleeve off her unharmed arm, so she would not have to lift her arms and irritate the arrow wound. He moved the shirt over her head, then down her injured shoulder and her arm until it was completely off.

Her heart was beating a little faster. She was bare from the waist up now but his gaze did not lower from her eyes. She felt his fingertips dance against her hip, and Arya's breath caught. She could feel the ache between her legs building as his fingers followed along the waistband of her breeches to stop at the laces. She felt him undo them at a tortuously slow rate.

"Sit down."

Her eyes opened at his low voice. She didn't even remember closing them. She took a step backwards and was met with the soft featherbed. After she sat, he knelt down at her feet.

He removed her boots one at a time, slowly. And then he was gently tugging her pants down and off her legs, leaving a trail of goose bumps wherever his fingers brushed exposed skin.

There wasn't a shred of clothing left on her and she waited for him to touch her. But instead, he suddenly stood, towering over her while she remained seated.

His hand finally reached out to touch her, but only on her shoulder. Their locked gaze was finally broken as he looked down to watch his fingertips trace the edges of the bandage there. But Arya's eyes never drifted away from his face.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"Some," she answered honestly.

His fingers lingered before he looked back up and dropped his hand down to his side. And then he was turning to leave.

Arya caught him by the arm. He turned back to her. "Stay with me," she said, her voice quiet. It came out more like a question than a demand.

He stood there silently, helpless to tell her no. "Please," she added softly.

That was all it took. His lips were on hers and she was falling back onto the bed with him following on top of her. Arya forgot the sting of pain along her bruised back and the soreness in her shoulder. Gendry kisses drowned out any of those painful afflictions. All she felt was him.

**AN: This chapter was more character oriented, but the next will focus mostly on plot. Perhaps the wildlings will finally attack... **


	16. Incomplete

**AN: This is late. I'm sorry. I'm not sure I'll be able to have the next chapter up on Tuesday like usual. I'm going to try, though. It might be a little short.  
****As always, thanks to those who reviewed/followed/favorited!**

**Quick reminder that Donal Noye used to blacksmith for the Baratheons a long time ago...**

**Sorry again about the lateness...**

Arya sat on the narrow and winding stairs of the tall, black stoned tower built and molded into the shape of a dragon. She had no idea what she was doing here or how she had gotten there. But still she sat, motionless, watching the dark waves crash onto the rocky shore and roll back out.

Over and over again, she watched.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a mound of silver fur turning a corner of the twisting stairs. When she turned to see, whatever it had been was gone. Arya stared at the empty stairs below her, befuddled. For a second there, she thought she had seen-

"Summer," a woman's voice, heavily accented, called out to her.

Arya turned and saw that she was no longer alone. She was dressed in red, from head to toe. Except for the choker she wore around her neck, it was gold but with a ruby stone. Even the hair that fell loose to her waist was colored red. But what bewildered Arya the most were her eyes. They seemed to burn.

"Huh?"

"Summer," she said, again. "It's not going to last. Winter is on the way, I've seen it. And it will not be any easier for us if we continue this war the way we are."

_Winter is coming, _Arya thought. Instead, she asked, "Who are you?"

She only smiled and silently came down the few steps between them, and sat down beside Arya. "Why ask? You already know who I am."

Arya had assumed, but she did not know. "You are Stannis' red priestess?"

"Yes. And I have seen you in the flames many times, Arya Stark of Winterfell."

She wasn't making sense. "What do you mean you've _seen _me?"

"When I look into the fire, I see things. Things that have already happened and things that have yet to..."

Arya raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure how true this tale was, but then again… she had seen a man change his face. She had seen a man die and live to walk again, and under the same religion.

"You do not believe me," the Red Woman said plainly. "But how can you deny your own eyes? You saw a man rise from the dead with a simple prayer to the Lord of Light."

How did she know that? "Did you see that in the flames, too?" she asked, only slightly joking.

"Yes," she said. "And I see you more and more as every day passes. I only see what the Lord of Light wants me to, and there is a reason he chose to show me you. You have a part to play in this war."

"I don't want a part," Arya frowned. "I just want to be with my family."

"Yes, and how do you expect to be with your sister again without a fight?" Arya didn't have an answer for this, and so the priestess continued, "It is past time Stark and Baratheon fight as one, again. You know what you must do."

She bit her lip. Go to Dragonstone? What about Jon? "I can't," Arya protested. "My place is with my brother."

"Your place is in Winterfell. If you ever wish to return home, this is the way."

She longed for home more than anything. Winterfell belonged to her. It belonged to her as it belonged to Jon and Sansa, and her father before them. She was a Stark, through and through. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell…

"Arya," someone whispered from above. _Gendry, _she thought as she recognized his voice.

She looked up at the cloudy sky, wondering where his voice had come from. She turned to the Red Woman quizzically.

"Your friend should learn to share," she said. "We will speak soon. Be careful, my lady. You are not as safe as you might think. Remember the night is dark and full of terrors."

Arya was about to ask what she meant, but was interrupted by Gendry. "Wake up," he whispered, again.

And then she was awake. It was morning, she could tell by the sunlight streaming through her window. Gendry was sitting up in bed, hovering over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. He mouthed the word "Jon".

And that was when she heard the sound of someone knocking against her chamber doors. Well, at least it was not her bedroom doors.

Arya slid out of bed and retrieved the silk robe on her dresser. One of the crew members of Titan's Daughter had gifted it to her in hopes she would not assassinate them in the future.

She slipped it on without much struggle or pain and tied it around her waist. "Stay here," she whispered to Gendry. After noting his state of undress, she added, "And put some clothes on."

She left her room, taking special care to close the door behind her. She heard the knocking, again.

"I'll be there in a second," she called out as she walked through the solar. When she saw that Gendry's bedroom door was open and so obviously unoccupied, she took a detour to shut it.

When she finally opened the door, it was not Jon like she had expected, but Sam. And he was blushing. Why?

She was then suddenly very conscience of what she was wearing, which was not much at all.

"What's going on?" she asked as her hands went to close the robe tighter around her chest. "I was asleep."

"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to wake you. Jon told me to walk with you to breakfast."

Arya had not brought up her "guard" with Jon yet, for she thought it might lead to an argument. And she did not want to have an argument with him the very day she brought him the news of his brother's death.

She thought it probably wasn't any better to have an argument on the day _after_ she had brought him the news of his brother's death, but constantly being followed was really annoying. Perhaps, it was time…

"Jon will be there?" she inquired.

Sam nodded. Good, she thought. This can all be sorted by the morning.

"Okay, I have to get dressed. Wait here, if you must." And with that, she shut the door in his face.

She entered her bedroom to find Gendry in the process of dressing in yesterday's clothes. He looked up, startled at the sound of the door closing. He relaxed when he saw it was her.

"Is he gone?" he whispered.

"It was just Sam, and he's waiting for me." She continued with a roll of her eyes, "He's my escort to breakfast."

Gendry grinned, barely containing his laughter. Arya snatched a pillow of the bed and playfully threw it at him with her good arm.

"It's not funny!" She aimed for his head, and he easily ducked it. It fell with a plop onto the decorative rug behind him. He was really laughing, now. "It's bullshit, and I'm putting an end to it once we get to breakfast. So, quit laughing and help me put on some decent clothing."

Gendry really did try to stop, and resorted to biting his lip to do so. "I'm sorry," he said as he approached her. He tugged at the tie of her robe to pull her closer to him. His familiar, gentle hands slid around her waist, and Arya thought they did not have time for what he had in mind.

"Sam is waiting for me," she warned.

"Then keep him waiting," he smiled. He bent down to capture her lips with his. The kiss deepened and he was walking backwards to the bed, half carrying her along the way. She was spun around and then her back was pressed against the mattress.

Her robe had loosened on its own accord, and Gendry used that to his advantage. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down her neck, while her hands roamed his back and clung to his shirt. She bit her lip as she felt him already hard against her, positioned just right to hit her center.

He continued to move his lips down her chest and stomach. She felt his hand slid slowly up her inner thigh. Her breath was ragged with anticipation. She was already growing increasingly desperate for any relief, now.

"Gendry…" It came out more like a plea than she would have liked.

He responded by lowering his lips along the protrusion of her hip bone, only a little closer to where she wanted him. "Umm, so, by the way," he said hurriedly between kisses. "I-it's not a big deal- but I sort of told your brother that I was in love with you and that you felt the same way…"

He was about to reach where she needed him most by the time he finished speaking but Arya had forgotten about that. She had frozen at his words. Gendry had told Jon what? "But…"

He paused his kisses. "Arya?" he asked cautiously.

She finally came to her senses and wiggled out from underneath him. "What in seven hells were you thinking?" she whisper-shouted as she sat up, remembering Sam just outside her chamber doors.

Gendry sighed and sat up beside her. "He outright asked me. What was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know! Nothing?"

"I'm sorry, okay? He was going to know eventually, anyway. Robb caught on just after two days. And I didn't get mad when you told him."

She sighed and crossed her arms. He had a point, but then again, it was different. Robb was _her_ brother. And so was Jon. "You shouldn't have said anything," she told him coolly.

"Why are you so mad?" Gendry asked, just as cool. "It's not like I told him I was fucking his little sister."

Well, she thought. That wouldn't be true, would it? Because you won't fuck me.

She didn't say it, though. She didn't want to fight. She didn't want to admit it bothered her.

"Look," she sighed. "I'm not mad, okay? I just think it's something I should have been able to decide whether or not to tell him. And I also would have liked the chance to do it in the way I wanted."

Gendry nodded, seeming to understand. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Before she could respond, the knocking resumed against the chamber doors. "Arya, everything okay?" Sam's voice traveled into her bedroom.

"Yes, just one more second!" she shouted back. Arya bit her lip, not wanting to miss breakfast and her chance to talk to Jon, but also didn't want to leave things unresolved. "Are we okay, then?"

"Yeah," he smiled reassuringly. "I'll help you get dressed." He stood and added with a chuckle, "And keep my hands to myself this time, I promise."

Gendry stayed true to his words and did not try anything while he dressed her. It wasn't until she was walking out of the room when he finally pulled her to him.

But it was only an embrace, nothing more. He had taken her by surprise when he had spun her around and into his chest, a small gasp escaping her lips. One hand was in her hair and the other held her close at the small of her back. When Arya leaned into him, it felt like more natural than anything.

She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of him so close and so warm. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want him to leave her.

"I don't like fighting," he said.

"Me either," she murmured into his chest.

* * *

Gendry tagged along with her and Sam to breakfast.

He walked beside her, his feet in step with hers. They trailed behind Sam, who was just a few steps ahead of them, leading the way to the dining hall.

He stood close enough that Arya thought perhaps she should put some distance between them. But Jon already knew, didn't he? It did not matter how close they walked. And so, she remained at his side.

Arya ignored the small talk Sam was trying to engage in, and let Gendry humor her guard in her stead.

All throughout the short walk, she was deep in thought about her dream the previous night, as well as all of the others she had been having recently.

Usually, there was a direwolf, saving someone from the lion. Was she the direwolf? And who was the lion? Joffrey? Tywin? The Lannisters in general?

Last night's dream was what really sent chills down her spine. It had felt so real. But, she doubted Stannis' red priestess had actually visited her in a dream.

Arya supposed it was her subconscious telling her that she needed to fight in this war—to save her sister and her home, the Stark name. To finally have justice for her father and her mother, for Robb and for Bran and for baby Rickon.

She barely noticed she had entered the dining hall, now. She spotted Jon sitting at the head table. He nodded in acknowledgment and waved her over.

She started towards him, dragging Gendry along with her through the crowded rows of tables. At least everyone had stopped staring at her. They seemed not to care about her presence any longer. They did not stop shoveling down food or their rowdy chatter.

She returned to her thoughts. So, what was she supposed to do? Go to Dragonstone and form an alliance with Stannis Baratheon? That was insane.

She suddenly felt someone's unfamiliar hands on her hip. They were clammy and blindly groping. They were trying to tug her closer.

Arya's hand went to her blade she wore in her belt, swiftly pulling it out and settling it right on the source of the hand's neck.

She ignored the twinge of pain in her shoulder from the quick movement. Arya stayed her hand before she cut skin. His hands were suddenly gone and held up in surrender.

The room was dead silent around her, and Arya was sure everyone's eyes were on her again.

The man was middle-aged, his hairline slowly receding and wrinkles already formed around his forehead. He was smiling, but Arya could see the fear behind his eyes that he tried so hard to hide.

"You gonna kill me?" he laughed. "Just because I tried to grab your arse?"

"Maybe," Arya answered easily. "I haven't decided yet." But she knew she wouldn't go that far.

She pressed the sword harder into the side of neck to prove her point, a little blood dribbling down his collarbone. She took great pride in the little hiss of pain that fell from his lips.

"Arya," Jon's anxious voice said. She turned and saw he was still sitting across the room at his table. His eyes were pleading with her. "Let me handle this."

"But-"

"Please?"

She ground her teeth and turned back to the man. "Put your hands on me again and it will be the last time you have them." And with some thought, she added, "Honestly, I think I might just kill you next time. Why have your hands when I could have your life?"

She finally removed the blade from his neck and turned away. Gendry was at her side, looking rather tense. And Sam just seemed shocked that she had almost killed him. Good, she thought. Maybe he would finally realize she could take care of herself and stop following her.

She tugged at Gendry's arm to get him to walk with her. She felt him move a protective arm around her shoulders as they made their way to the head table.

The room resumed their talking and eating by the time she arrived. She took the seat next to Jon, and Gendry took the one on her left. Arya began to make her plate, grabbing a slice of bacon.

"Thank you," Jon whispered to her. "I will make sure it does not happen again."

"I know how you can make it up to me," she said. "I don't want Sam following me around anymore."

"You don't like him? I can find someone else I trust, I suppose…"

"No, you don't understand. I don't want _anyone _following me around."

"You can't be serious. Especially after what just happened—"

"If anything, it proved I don't need protection! I would have cut his throat if you hadn't stopped me, Jon."

"Would you have?" he asked. "Really?"

"No," she sighed. "But I would have done more than that scratch on his neck, though."

She could see Jon's resolve breaking just a little. "I'll think about it, okay?"

Arya didn't think it was a good idea to push him. "Fine."

"I have to go," Jon announced as he stood. "For now, please don't wander off without Sam?"

She reluctantly nodded. He grinned and mussed her hair like he used to back at Winterfell. She couldn't bring herself to glare at him like she might have those few years ago. She settled for rolling her eyes and brushing back her hair.

Jon made to leave and paused as he was about to pass Gendry. "If you want, you could check out the forge. I'm sure Noye could use some help." He leaned in to whisper in his ear so Arya would not hear. "Watch over her, will you?"

But Arya _did_ hear. "I heard that!"

Jon finally left, his chuckles with him. Arya watched him wind through the tables. He stopped where the man who had tried to feel her up sat, and grabbed him roughly around the back of his neck. Jon dragged him out of the dining hall. She wondered what he was going to do to him.

Arya felt Gendry take her hand underneath the table. He leaned in close to her ear. "You okay?"

She nodded and turned to face him. "I'm just wondering what Jon meant when he said he would 'handle' it."

"I don't know. Rough him up a bit, I suppose," he answered. "I would have liked the chance to hit him myself, but you beat me to it."

Arya laughed. "Thank you, but I'm capable of defending myself."

Gendry grinned. "I saw that."

"I wish my brother would, too."

"Don't blame him. You're his little sister, of course he's going to worry about you. And everyone here is practically twice your size. You're not the biggest person, Arya. You look so breakable at times. Fragile..."

"I'm not fragile," she protested.

"You can't understand. You don't worry about yourself like I do. Or how Jon does."

"Stop worrying about me, then."

"I can't."

"Try."

'I have."

Arya could only sigh and shake her head. Almost a year of training to be a water dancer, and this is what it got her. She was better than Jon was at her age, with swordplay _and _a bow. She had killed grown men. Men twice her size and more experienced than her. Maybe men who have seen war.

Had Jon fought anyone for real at the Wall or during his ranging? If he hadn't, then she supposed he would soon, when the wildlings came…

A terrible, sick feeling settled in her gut. Jon was going to fight. He was going to _lead. _He could…

No. She wouldn't let that happen.

Was this the feeling? The one Gendry had been telling her of?

Jon was not unbreakable. He was a man. And all men must die.

* * *

When Arya and Gendry set foot into Castle Black's forge that morning, the first thing Donal Noye did was drop his hammer on his toe.

The astonished, disbelieving look in his widened eyes was replaced with the sheer look of pain as he loudly swore a long colorful line of profanities. The one-armed man abandoned the sword he had been working on and hobbled around the room, as if to walk it off.

"Gods, are you okay?" Arya asked.

"NO!"

"We could go fetch the maester?" Gendry suggested.

He sighed and sat down on the bench in the corner. "No, I'll be fine," he said while he pulled his foot up onto his knee with his hand and held his injured toe through his boot. "You must be Jon's sister?"

"Yes, and this is my friend Gendry. He's a smith's apprentice, well, he was before..." Before I took him away from his life, she thought bitterly.

He nodded and turned to Gendry with calculating eyes. "Yes, you look like you know how to hold a hammer." He paused with pursed lips. "Where'd you apprentice, lad?"

"Tobho Mott's Shop in King's Landing." Arya wondered if he should be telling Noye this. The Queen might still want him.

"King's Landing?" he asked. When Gendry nodded, he continued, "Huh."

What was happening? She sensed something was off. The way Donal Noye was looking at Gendry…

"Well, I could use your help around here, Gendry," he said suddenly. "Your brother had me up half the night, going on and on about our defenses and somehow came to conclusion we don't have enough arrows. And he wants me to mend some of the idiot recruits' swords. Once I fix it, they're just going to ruin them again. Hacking trees and whatever the fuck else they're doing."

"I could help fix the swords. I don't know about the arrowheads, though. I've always had trouble with those. Tricky things, small..."

And so they got to work. She couldn't sense anything odd about Donal Noye any longer. Whatever it had been, it had faded.

Arya stretched out on the bench and watched him work for some time, just like she had in Harrenhal, and then Riverrun.

They talked little, but Arya was okay with that. There never was much talk when he was actually getting work done, and if there was any, it was generally one-sided. He was too focused.

The forge and its heat was a nice change of pace, compared to the snow storm that was practically raging outside. Gendry's excitement with snow had become a great source of amusement for her.

It was like magic to him or something. The look he got in his eyes… you would think he was watching a dragon breath fire. The morning's walk to the forge was the first time he really got to take it in. If what Jon said was true, and Gendry had never left her bedside, then he probably hadn't been playing around in the snow while she had been knocked out.

Maybe she would teach him how to make snowballs and have a fight. Or perhaps, she would simply ambush him and he would just have learn to make them on the spot in order to defend himself. The image put a silly smile on her face.

She left them to their work a little while later, after Gendry had decided the heat was too much for so much clothing and tossed his shirt aside. Arya's gaze had lingered while her mind went elsewhere.

He noticed, much to her annoyance. The amused and knowing look he had sent her way led her to roll her eyes.

She thought Donal also noticed, and add that to Gendry's smugness, she wasn't exactly eager to stick around.

When she exited the forge, Sam was no longer where she had left him. She had asked him to stay outside the door before she and Gendry had gone in, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

Well, this certainly had just fallen onto her lap. She was free. She could go anywhere.

She set about exploring Castle Black. She wound through the courtyards and the sparring recruits. She stopped at all the towers she had yet to see. She climbed the long wooden stairs encrusted in ice with sure feet, all the up way to the top of the Wall.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, frozen in awe of the view.

Arya had always thought of the Wall as the edge of the world. But it wasn't. There was so much more.

Gendry had to see this. If he thought snow was impressive…

After she finally came back down, she somehow found herself all alone in a tunnel. She had wandered into some stone tower and ended up underground. She took one of the burning candle holders that hung along the tunnel walls and carried it along with her to guide the way.

She came across large, wooden double doors. Curiosity got the best of her and she tentatively pushed them ajar.

It was a library. A _massive_ library, she thought. She couldn't find where it ended. Perhaps it never did.

There were rows and rows of shelves, and books were stacked upon them. Books that looked untouched and books that were ancient and falling apart at the spine. She had never seen so many.

It was dark and unlit, aside from the candles in her hand. The few tables that were scattered about had some books abandoned and piled up atop them, but she could see the layers of accumulated dust on the leather covers all the way from the doorway.

When was the last time someone had been down here?

An hour later, she was huddled in the corner of two shelf aisles, with several musty books scattered around her on the floor. The candles were near so she could read. Her knees were drawn up and a thick book was in her lap. It was old, so she was careful as she turned every page. She was worried it would fall apart at a moment's notice.

Herbal Remedies for the Common Westerosi, the book was titled. It was full of tricks from midwives and healers to alleviate a variety of afflictions, from a simple headache to the pox.

When she finally came across the page devoted to moon tea, she tried to take every ingredient to heart. She wished she had a quill and some parchment. How bad would it be if she tore the page out?

"Jon wouldn't want you to be all alone down here."

Her eyes shot up from the text at the voice, and her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword in her belt. A sigh of relief was on her lips as she saw the source of the voice. It was just Sam.

He stood above her stack of books, faraway enough from her candles for the darkness to envelop him. But she could still make the outline of his shape and catch a glimpse of his pale eyes.

"Don't sneak up on people like that!" she scolded. "I could have ran you through with my sword."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't even sure you were in here. I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Well, that's your fault, isn't it? When I left the forge, you were gone."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "The baby, he-"

"Baby?"

"Yes, I told you about him this morning, remember?"

_Oh. _She had completely tuned him out during the walk to breakfast. "Right, of course. So, uh, what happened?"

"Well, Gilly thought he was sick and she was mad with worry… I was trying to calm her down while Aemon look him over. He's fine," Sam explained, but Arya had no idea what he was talking about or even who Gilly was. Was there another female at the Wall? Was this baby theirs? "Please, don't tell Jon?"

She considered blackmailing him into getting him to stop following her altogether, but she found herself agreeing without that incentive, "I won't say anything."

"Thank you," he said with a relieved smile. "So, you found the library. You seem to find it more interesting than your brother did," he observed, nodding to her stack of books. "What'd you find?"

Arya had the urge to smack the book in her lap closed before he could see what she had been reading. But she ignored the instinct, and closed it as nonchalantly as possible. "Just some herbal teas and such that might help with pain," she shrugged. "My shoulder's been bothering me a bit."

"You should see Maester Aemon. He'd know how to help you."

"Maybe," she replied and rose from her spot on the floor. "Do you know how to get out of these tunnels? Because I'm not entirely sure how I got down here."  
He nodded in affirmation. She handed him the candles. "Lead the way, then?"

As they left the library side-by-side, Sam noted, "Did you know there are books here that even the Citadel doesn't have?"

"Really?" Arya asked, in a mix of intrigue and disbelief. "Not even the Citadel?"

Arya didn't tune him out once the entire walk back to familiar castle grounds. She was genuinely interested in what he had to say. Perhaps he was not very capable with a sword, but Sam was quite intelligent. He knew things, random facts and tidbits and stories. Things that had somehow successfully managed to capture her attention.

Maybe she was even starting to like him a little.

* * *

It had been exactly a week since the day Arya had woken up in an unfamiliar room with an arrow wound and an itchy bandage wrapped around her head, her brother standing only a foot away.

The original excitement that buzzed around the Night's Watch about her presence had faded. Some just nodded and called her "my lady" as she passed. Some acknowledged her as an actual human being and had conversations with her. And some would just make japes about the incident at breakfast, usually at Gerry's—the man who had tried to touched her- expense.

The same friendly few always seemed to be around and were always quick to ask how she was doing, something she suspected was Jon's doing.

She didn't mind too much. Grenn and Pyp were almost always comically at each other's throat, though she could tell there was no real hatred lied there. And Sam was as intelligent and shy and endearing as ever, and also full of stories about her brother and his adventures at the Wall.

Her favorite was about the crow and his election as Lord Commander.

They felt less like guards than friends, but she knew they were keeping an eye on her for Jon.

War loomed over them, and Jon grew wearier as each day passed. And he was not the only one.

The townsfolk of nearby villages were slowly matriculating into Castle Black, pushed out of their homes by the fear and anxiety of the upcoming wildling attack.  
Jon offered them shelter, beds, and meals in exchange for their aid when battle inevitably came. The idea of fighting seemed to only frighten some of them even more than they already were.

Her brother was shoving weapons into the hands of those who had never held them before. Boys younger than Bran, women with no battle experience whatsoever…. Jon was asking them to die for him and Arya didn't know what to do, or even really _think,_ about it.

Besides the upcoming battle and all that came with it, Arya was enjoying her time at the Wall.

Well, mostly.

The dreams continued. Every night, a direwolf prowled in her dreams to fight the lion. Sometime the red priestess was there, and sometimes she wasn't.  
She wished they would stop. She didn't want to leave the Wall. She didn't want to leave Jon.

And Gendry. What about Gendry? She could not bring him to Dragonstone. To Stannis.

If he knew his parentage, and Arya assumed he would because of the resemblance he bore to both Renly and Robert, then Gendry was a threat to his precious iron throne.

Her father had said Stannis was an honorable man, but then again, he killed his own brother. Maybe.

But her sister. Her home. Her name. What was she supposed to do about that?

Arya tried to keep herself busy so she wouldn't have to think of an answer.

Her days were spent in the forge with Gendry or in the practice yard watching recruits work at swordplay. And as a favor to her brother, she put aside some time to teach some of the less experienced villagers and women how to work a bow and some basic moves with a sword.

And actually, some were not that bad. Zie, the whore who had told her where to buy a horse back when she was in Mole's Town, was quite handy with a crossbow.

Her evenings were spent rolling around in bed with Gendry and his lips and his tongue and his hands…

And her meals were spent with Jon, for that was the only time he could tear himself away from preparing Castle Black's defenses…

They were alone in his solar, their dinner spread about the table they currently occupied.

He had just been retelling a particularly funny story about Robb back at Winterfell. She remembered the tale quite well, though she hadn't seen it firsthand. Sansa had, though.

Robb had accidently, or so he claimed, stumbled upon some girls in the bathing in a river. He had stood there like an idiot, awkward and frozen on the spot. It was only after Sansa's screeching that he muttered some apology and fled. Jon and Arya hadn't left him alone for weeks about it.

They had laughed as they recalled some of the japes they had thrown Robb's way, but then it faded.

It finally set it.

Robb was dead.

They fell into an agonizing silence. A familiar emptiness settled itself in the pit of her stomach. It was so easy to forget. But it always came back in some way or the other. She would always feel incomplete.

Like a part of her was missing.

Jon finally broke the silence, "It's not safe for you here."

"Why?" She thought of the incident at breakfast and those slimy hands grabbing. "Because of what happened the other day?"

"It's not just that," he sighed. "It's Mance Raydar and the wildlings and… it's just not safe."

She caught the slight shiver that shook through him. "What are you not telling me?"

His face was pained with confliction. "I… it is nothing." He frowned as he continued, "If the Wall falls… I won't be able to protect you, Arya."

No, she thought. You mean if you die you won't be able to protect me. She wasn't sure if she would want protecting if she lost Jon… Her eyes were watering, and she blinked them back in frustration. She was tired of tears.

"I've been having these dreams," she confessed. "And I know it sounds mad… but they feel so real. And well, I… I think I'm supposed to go to Dragonstone. To Stannis, I mean."

His eyebrows furrowed. "To Stannis Baratheon? And do what?"

"Bend the knee… call our bannermen, I guess. End the war. Get Sansa back. Get our home back." She gritted her teeth and added, "Get justice."

"Vengeance, you mean," he corrected. She could tell from his tone that he did not agree with her.

"What? You're saying you don't want Joffrey dead? The Freys dead? Tywin Lannister? I _know _he had a part in it, Jon. Walder Frey could not have planned it all on his own."

"How can you say that? I hate them. I hate them for what they did to our father, and our brother, and your mother. I hate them for what they did to us, to our family! I want them dead just as much as you. But it's not going to bring them back! It's not going to undo everything that has happened to us! Vengeance is not worth your life, Arya."

Jon shook his head, eyes almost begging her. "You won't be any safer if you just wander into another war."

* * *

Two day later, Arya watched the young recruits sparring with blunted swords in the yard before her. She wanted to join them, but couldn't for she was still in too much pain. Her arrow wound was taking its sweet time healing.

Instead, she watched them, silently nitpicking every single they did wrong.

_The idiot, he never stands sideways.  
_  
_Don't charge like that. You're doing all the work for him._

_Stop hacking around blindly._

_Have these idiots ever picked up a sword before?_

She could beat them so easily. She was itching to take part. It had been too long since she had a good fight. Since she had pointed her sword at someone's heart and triumphantly exclaim that they would be dead.

"It's not a good idea," His voice was close in her ear, so close she could feel his breath tickling her lobe.

She smiled and craned her neck backwards to see Gendry had joined her. "That obvious, huh?"

She could tell he had just come from the forge. His face was flushed and she could see remnants of sweat glistening on his forehead. She wondered what would happen if she kissed him there and now, in front of everyone…

"You get all tense. Like, you're itching for a fix," he said as he sat beside her on the bench she currently occupied. "But you can barely dress yourself, let alone win a swordfight…"

"Hey, that's not fair," she protested. "I can dress myself now."

"Yeah," he snorted. "Barely."

She gave his chest a hard push and sent him falling off the bench. She stifled a smile as he met ground.

She heard some of the recruits laughing, apparently having distracted them from their swordplay.

She caught the twitch of amusement pulling at the corner of his lips. "Would m'lady give me a hand up?" Gendry teased.

You stupid, stubborn bull, she thought. He was never going to stop calling her that, was he? "Maybe if you ask nicely," she answered.

"M'lady, what ever do you mean?" he continued with faux confusion. He stood and dusted off his breeches before he sat back down in his previous spot on the bench. "I don't think I could have asked any more nicely."

She was considering pushing him down again when a loud call of a war horn interrupted her from above.

She counted each blast.

One.

Two.

And then silence.

What did two blasts mean?

"Wildlings!" one of the panicked recruits shouted.


	17. Chaos

Chaos was around her.

Men were blurs, running past her to get where they needed to be.

Children were crying. Parents were shuffling them into the vaults underground.

Weapons were being passed around with urgency.

So much shouting, was all Arya could think.

_Everyone_ was shouting.

Arya wound through the chaos, only half aware that Gendry was following her. She needed to find Jon.

He grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her to a stop. "Where are you going? We need to go to your room, or the vaults. Somewhere safe."

"I-I have to find Jon first," she said, and was slightly taken aback by how frazzled her own voice sounded.

"Go there now. I'll meet you." That was a lie. She had no intention of meeting him. But it was the only way to get him to go. It was the only way she knew he would be safe.

Gendry shook his head. "No, not with—"

"Arya!" someone else called out, interrupting him.

She turned towards the voice and saw Sam rushing towards her. "You have to get to the King's Tower!"

"Where's my brother?" she asked as he approached. "I want to see him."

"Jon's given me orders to bring you to your room—"

"I don't care," she declared defiantly. "Where is he?"

"But he told me—"

"Well, now I'm telling you! Tell me where he is." When Sam still hesitated, she snapped, "Right now!"

He practically jumped at that. His voice was shaky as he spoke, "Last I saw him, he was in the armory."

And with that, she was racing through the crowds. She could hear Gendry close behind her. Go back, she thought. I don't need to worry about you, too.

"Arya, this is a bad idea," he warned. "We should…"

She didn't hear the rest. She had spotted her brother.

He was by the armory with a group of fifteen or so. Some she could tell were villagers and some wore black. She picked out Donal Noye, Pyp, and Grenn, but the rest she did not know by name. Jon was giving orders and gathering arrows, it seemed.

Arya practically ran over to him. She didn't know what her plan was. She just knew she had to be by him.

She couldn't let anything happen to him. To her last brother.

When she ran into him, she lost her footing. Before she could fall, he held her by the upper arms to balance her. She gripped his shoulders, and not just so she wouldn't fall. She was desperate to keep her hold of him.

"Dammit Arya, I told Sam to take you to your room."

"It's not his fault. I can't do it…" She chewed her bottom lip. "I have to stay with you."

"Have you gone mad?" he asked with an incredulous look.

"I could help. You know I can—"

"Arya, please. Just listen to me. Go to the King's Tower and lock the doors. Stay there until I come get you, okay?"

"BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN'T COME GET ME?" she shouted at him. Her voice was frantic and panicked. She hadn't meant to say it. It just sort of came out. She spoke softer this time, her words complete with a slight quiver of fear. "What am I supposed to do then, Jon?"

He closed his slightly agape mouth and Arya thought perhaps he looked as if she had slapped him. His face was pained as he spoke, "I'm going to be fine, sister. I promise."

He can't promise that. Not really.

She was made aware of her surroundings as Gendry finally caught up with her. The villagers and Night's Watch members that had been around were staring at her and Jon, though some to their credit tried to make it look as if they weren't.

She shifted uncomfortably at the attention. She hadn't wanted them, or anyone, to see her little outburst. She wondered if Gendry had heard it, too.

Jon eyes wandered away from her to look at Gendry. He stepped back and took a sword from Donal Noye, who had been passing out weapons to the unarmed villagers. He handed it to Gendry.

_No. No. No.  
_  
"You know how to use it?" Jon asked.

He nodded with a newfound purpose. "Yes."

"No, absolutely not! He is not fighting!" she yelled at Jon. She turned to Gendry and said it again, "You are not fighting! This isn't your war!"

He argued, "But I could help—"

"I fight better than you, Gendry! I think it's safe to assume the wildlings can, too!"

"I'll keep him out of combat," Jon tried to reason. "He can be with the archers. We need as much help as we can get-"

"Then let me help instead, for gods' sake!" Arya sighed and had the urge to stamp her foot like a child. "If Gendry fights, then so am I," she declared.

She grabbed a crossbow right out of one of the villager's hands as he passed. He looked ready to protest but thought better of it and simply went back to Noye to retrieve a new weapon. "You can't stop me," she told them.

Jon simply frowned at her and Gendry clenched his jaw, both looking rather helpless. What were they supposed to do? She had put them in quite the predicament.

And then Jon sighed, and she knew she had won.

"I could get Grenn and Pyp to drag you away, you know," Jon told her.

"Not bloody likely," Pyp chimed in. "I don't think she'd think twice about shooting us."

He was right. She wouldn't.

Jon relented. "Stay in your room, Arya. I mean it." He turned to a frustrated and beaten Gendry. He gave him a small nod, "Go with her, then. Make sure she doesn't run off."

Gendry made to give the sword back, but Jon stopped him. "Keep it," he said with a clap to his shoulder. "Just… just in case you need it."

An unspoken understanding passed through them. And Arya bit her tongue for once and didn't tell them she could protect herself.

Her brother turned to her and he pulled her into an embrace. She cherished the moment. She cherished his hands around her. She cherished his scent and his voice. "Stay safe," he whispered. She cherished everything about him.

He pulled away and with one last look, he was walking away. Come back, she thought.

* * *

Arya was in the King's Tower just like Jon had wanted.

She lay on the bed, over the thick furs. She wondered if it was cold. She didn't feel it if it was.

Gendry was half underneath her, staring at the ceiling above them. Her head rested on his chest and his arm was slung around her waist.

He hadn't said anything to her since he had dragged her off to her chambers.

She wasn't sure how long they had been lying there like this. Maybe an hour. It was nightfall now.

The curtains were closed, but that did not drown out the sounds of war. She could hear the frantic shouts of orders, the final cries of dying men, the groans of the injured… It refused to be tuned out.

Arya watched her fingers as they drew lazy patterns on Gendry's chest. She summoned some courage and asked quietly, "Are you mad?"

He hesitated for a moment. "No," he huffed out. "I can't be, really. You just didn't want me to do the very thing I didn't want you to do." He began to stroke her hair. "What's important is that you're safe."

And that you are too, she thought. "Am I?" she asked, stealing a glance up at him. "Safe," she clarified.

"I think so," he answered. "As safe as you could be."

"But… I could die. _We _could die." Jon could die, she added silently.

"Don't say that," he frowned. "The Wall won't fall. It just… can't. It's been around for hundreds of years. It was made for this. It was built for this fight."  
Maybe he was right. But still…

"I…" she trailed off, apprehensive. "There is something I want to do," she told him quietly. "If we die—"

"We're not—"

"If we die tonight," she talked over him. She rolled on top of him. She was bent down so their faces were aligned, and her hands were placed in the pillows on either side of his head for support. "I would regret never having the chance to do this."

He searched her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

She brought her lips down to his, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, she knew he understood.

He looked conflicted. "I want to. I do. But if we survive the night, like I know we will—"

"I've been drinking moon tea," she cut him off. "Nothing will happen." She placed a tender kiss along his jaw and whispered, "Trust me." She trailed a few more kisses until she met his lips again.

This time it was deeper. Her tongue moved slow and languid along his, yet somehow the kiss was hungry and full of want. She was desperate. She was desperate _for him_.

And he was giving in. He met her lips with equal fervor. His hands were in her hair and down her back and on her thigh and up her sides. He flipped them over and ground himself into her with a guttural moan caught in his throat. He was just as desperate as she.

Arya tugged his shirt over his head. He hastily pulled on the tie of her robe do get it undone. He slid it off her shoulders as he moved his lips along the newly revealed skin. She arched herself off the bed so he could easily pull the silken fabric out from underneath her.

Things slowed down. There was no need to rush. He pressed a kiss at her pulse point and she ran her nails lightly along his back with a contented sigh.

He raised his head to look at her. He brushed a fallen piece of strand out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her heart pounded in her chest. It must have been racing a mile a minute. She wondered if he could hear it. Feel it, even.

Arya suddenly felt nervous. This was it. It was all really happening.

His breeches were the only obstruction between them now. Arya pushed aside her nerves and pulled at his last remnant of clothing. He sat up to help her move them down his thighs.

He was back on top of her. One of her hands ran up his shoulder blade and settled on the back of his neck, fingertips just barely dipping into his hair. She guided him towards her lips for another kiss.

She felt his fingers graze across her outer thigh to the inner side, and then two were inside her. She broke the kiss slightly to gasp. Gendry's lips moved down to her neck. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as his thumb circled her bundle of nerves, but a slight whimper escaped anyways.

She forced herself not to whine at the loss of contact as he pulled his fingers away. He placed a kiss just below her ear. "Are you sure?"

The question made her want to laugh. Was he really asking that? "Yes," she answered with an eager nod.

He positioned himself between her legs. She gripped his shoulders as she braced herself. And then he was pushing himself inside her. When she felt him break her barrier, she could not help but flinch. Her whole body went rigid and her nails dug deep enough into his back to make him bleed.

It hurt. She knew it would hurt. But it _really hurt.  
_  
He saw her discomfort and did not move any further inside her. "Do we want me to stop?" He sounded as if that idea caused him physical pain.

"No," she replied with shake of her head. It would get better. She knew that. "Don't stop."

He was careful to move slow, not wanting to hurt her. But it did anyway. It was clear on her face.

She was completely tense by the time he was fully inside her.

He didn't move yet, instead opting to kiss her lips and then her neck, in an attempt to get her to relax.

It worked. She began to adjust around him, and was reminded of the need for some form of relief. She shifted slightly underneath him, desperate for any friction.

He understood the implication, and slowly moved out and then back in. The pain was still there, but underneath it was something good. Her breath hitched as he hit a spot that made her want more. She wrapped her legs around him, and adjusted her hips to better the angle.

She moaned as he rocked against her again. He did it again. Then again. And then again.

And the pain was forgotten.

Her nails raked against his back and through his hair. His lips were on hers. His teeth gently nipped and his tongue was sweet against hers. She felt that familiar pressure building. She was close. His pace was increasing.

With another thrust, she was sent over the edge, a soft cry falling from her lips. He finished almost simultaneously, whispering her name.

Gendry buried his face into her neck, his ragged breathing muffled. Arya closed her eyes, lost in the high that always followed her release.

He then kissed his way up her neck and jaw, one of his hands cupping the other side of her face.

He brushed his lips over hers. She opened her eyes. Arya knew that look he was giving her. He always had it when he was about to tell her that he loved her.

She would beat him to it this time. "I love you."

He smiled and let his thumb softly stroke her cheek. "I love you, too."

And then he dipped down to capture her lips again.

* * *

Gendry had fallen asleep hours ago. But she could not find sleep so easily.

She could hear the chorus of moans outside her window. The shouts that were too far away for her to make sense out of…

It was odd- the sounds of chaos raging outside, mingling with the serene quiet of her room.

Light just barely peeked through her curtains. Dawn was upon them.

They had fought all night. It was going on so long, and all she could do was wait.

And so that was what she did. Wait. And wait. And wait...

She lay there, comfortable on her side, curled up close to Gendry and tried so hard to ignore the battle and all that came with it.

Jon will be here soon, she told herself. He will smile and tell you that we've won and he will pull you up in his arms and spin you around like he used to. And you will wonder how you ever thought he wouldn't come back.

And just like that, there was a loud knocking on her chamber doors. "Arya!"

At Jon's voice, she shot up out of Gendry's arms. Her abrupt movement shook him awake, but she wasn't paying him any mind.

"Arya, it's me," her brother rasped. "Let me in."

She flew out of bed, grabbing her robe from where it lay crumpled on the floor along the way to the door. She tugged it on as she ran through the solar.

She hastily undid all the locks on the doors. There were four. A newly dressed Gendry was suddenly at her side and helping her with them.

It was done in seconds. And then she opened the doors and Jon was there.

He had a cut on his forehead, and his eyes were tired. Dirt was in his hair and on his clothes, which seemed to be torn in places. He looked like hell.

But he was alive.

She flung herself into his arms. He stumbled backwards a little at the impact, but caught himself on the doorframe. He moved his other hand to return the embrace. "We won," he breathed out. Why did his breathing sound so strained and uneven like that?

She then felt how much he was leaning on her. Almost half of his weight…

And then he was falling. She tried to keep him up, but he was too heavy and ended up half on his knees.

Gendry was rushing to her side. "What's wrong with him?" he asked. "What's happening?"

She suddenly felt something sticky and wet on her right hand. _No._

She saw the blood, coating her fingers bright red. Her eyes immediately went to find the source, and saw the gash on his back, just below his shoulder and underneath his ripped clothes.

"Arrow..." Jon mumbled through heavy eyelids.

"Gendry," her small, shaky voice said. "H-help me get him to Aemon… please."

He nodded and helped heave Jon up. He groaned as he was pulled up, and wrapped one arm around each of their necks. Arya struggled with his weight as they half-carried him to the maester.

"What were you thinking?" she huffed out as they walked. "Why didn't you go straight to Aemon?"

"Wasn't deep… " he answered. "Had… t-to know you were… okay… had to see bodies... to see if she was…." He trailed off and closed his eyes. He stopped walking.

"Jon," she called for her brother to come back. "You can't sleep right now, Jon. Please, we can't carry you on our own."

He opened his eyes slightly and gave a subtle nod. His feet resumed their slow steps.

They got down the stairs with great difficulty. The steps at the bottom were falling apart, burned and covered in ash. Smoke clouded her vision and assaulted her nose. But whatever flames there had been were gone.

The walls were scorched black, several men were carrying out burnt corpses that were beyond recognition, and the smell of charred flesh made her stomach churn. There were so many bodies.

She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. She didn't have time. She had to get Jon to Maester Aemon.

No one had yet to notice her presence. "Someone, help," she tried, slightly coughing at the smoke. "The stairs… We can't get down. It's Jon. He's hurt. The Lord Commander is wounded."

A figure approached through the ashen fog. As he got closer, she recognized him to be Grenn.

"Gods, what's happened to him?" he asked. He turned around to another Night's Watch member she didn't know by name. "Come help me get the Lord Commander down," he called to him.

Arya and Gendry got as close as they dared to the edge, not wandering onto the last step that was crumbling. The gap to the floor was only a few feet across. She thought she might be able to jump it, but she obviously could not with her brother in tow.

They knelt to the floor and began to push Jon slightly off the edge, so Grenn and the other man could grab his legs and pull him to the other side.

She held his head in her palms as he was lifted up. "What's going on?" Jon mumbled, his eyes dazed and faraway as they looked up at her.

"Shhh… everything's okay."

Arya was nervous. She looked at Gendry's hands, gripping her brother tightly around his shoulder and his back. What if they dropped him?

She anxiously chewed her bottom lip and turned to him. "Do you have him okay?"

He nodded with a concentrated furrow in his brows that told her that he was struggling with having to carry all his weight.

And then Jon was entirely in the hands of the two on the lower floor. Grenn held his shoulders while the other held his feet. They set him down easily on the ground.

Grenn outstretched his arm, beckoned her to take his hand. "You have to jump," he said. "I won't let you fall, I promise."

She nodded in understanding and took his hand. She didn't have time to hesitate. She leaped across the gap and his arm was around her waist to pull her down. Gendry came next. Arya held her breath as he jumped even though she knew he would be fine. Grenn would catch him if he slipped.

Arya and Gendry didn't have to carry him the rest of the way to the Maester's chambers. Grenn and the other one did that for them. Her back was thankful.

It was a different room than the one she had awoken in that week ago. It was much larger, about thirty feet wide. There were dozens and dozens of rows of cots lined up. Most of them were occupied.

They were bleeding and groaning for help and cursing to the gods. She pushed out the noise. Jon was her only concern right now.

They brought Jon onto one of the few empty beds. Grenn set off to find the maester, who Arya could not spy. It felt hot, it was so crowded… Night's Watch men and women from the villages buzzed all around, trying to sew up cuts or soothe burns or comfort their loved ones.

She stood helpless at Jon's bedside, waiting for someone to come help. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He was sweating. His breathing was so uneven and almost a wheeze. Was this normal? It was just an arrow. It can't be serious. He can't die because of this, could he?

She sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She reached out a shaky hand to touch his forehead. "He's burning…" She turned to Gendry with wary eyes. "What's happening? I-I don't understand what's happening..."

He didn't have answers. All he could offer was some simple comfort. He had equally wary eyes as he tentatively moved a hand on her shoulder.

Sam was suddenly at their side now. He shoved a cloth into Arya's hands. "Don't let him bleed out."

He tried to leave, but she stopped him. "Wait, where's the maester? He has to help him—"

"There are others that are worse off. He'll come soon, or someone else will, I promise."

He turned to leave again, but Arya grabbed his arm. "But, can't you do something? Please, Sam."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how. Just wait. He's going to be fine."

And then Arya was left alone, with only a stupid cloth to prevent her brother from dying.

She turned back to Jon, and Arya thought she had never felt more vulnerable. She did what Sam had ordered and lifted him slightly up so she could press the rag on his arrow wound.

There was nothing else for her to do. She stared at him for a minute. He was way too pale and his face was shiny with sweat. And his lips were parted in order to take in a sufficient amount of air. But his eyes were what disconcerted her the most. They were so glassy. Glazed over. Like he didn't even know where he was.

"Jon?" she tried.

She thought she saw a flash of recognition there. "I tried… Arya…"

She took his hand in hers. "Yes, I'm here. It's okay."

"Nothing… nothing is okay. Father would… Father would be… disappointed in me—"

"Don't say that," Arya told him. "Father would be proud. How could he not? You're Lord Commander, and you've just stopped the wildlings, and y-you're taking care of me…" She felt tears stinging in her eyes.

"No… I broke my vows…"

Of course, Arya had heard the rumors. The whispers that were quickly hushed whenever she came around. Jon joining the wildlings, lying with one of the women, killing Qhorin Halfhand…

But that was all she thought they were. Rumors.

She didn't care if they were true. From what she understood, Jon claimed it was all under orders. And she believed him.

And even if he had killed the Halfhand in cold blood, she wouldn't care. Jon was her brother. He could kill a thousand men and she would love him the same. He could betray his brothers, and she wouldn't bat an eye. And who cared who he lied with? She wasn't a maiden anymore, either.

"Shhh… It's okay, Jon," she assured. "I know about that. You were under orders. I know you would never betray them. Father would know that, too."

"Not just orders... Ygritte… my choice… Arya, I- I think I loved her… and now…" Tears began to roll wet down his face as he continued, "Now she's dead. And it's my fault."

Ygritte must be the wildling woman. "What do you mean? Did you…?"

"Might as well have. Not my arrow, but who ordered it to be shot?"

Arya was at a loss of words. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but she couldn't help but think that would be a lie. "I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.

She sat there silently for a few moments, just holding his hand. "Father wouldn't blame you, Jon. You had to do your job. I think... I think she had to know that, too."

The maester finally came over then, interrupting any response Jon could have had. She was forced to move off the bed as he went to work. She stood there anxiously while Gendry tried to calm her with a few soothing touches. He didn't tell her he was going to be okay, though. Because he didn't know.

Soon it was over. The arrow had punctured him deeply and he had apparently lost a lot of blood, but it would not kill him. "He'll heal up fine," Aemon assured her.

She let out a relieved sigh. Jon wasn't going to die.

Not today, she thought with a smile.

**AN: As always, thank you for following/favoriting/reviewing and just simply reading. This was only a day late, so it's not too bad... I'll have the next one up on time, I promise. If you want, send me a review. I always like hearing from you guys. **


	18. Nowhere Else

The maester had ordered Jon rest, and so Arya was leading her brother to his bed in the Lord's Commander's Tower, ignoring his protests along the way.

_That wasn't even half of Mance's men. They will attack again._

_I have to prepare the defenses for when they do._

_People are dying. I should help._

_Arya, I can't sleep right now_.

That was his last objection before he proceeded to pass out. He just sort of slumped over, and Arya narrowly managed to guide his unconscious form towards the wall so he had something to lean against before he could have taken a tumble down the stairs.

This was the second time he had done this. After the maester had tended to him that morning, he was suddenly out cold. It had scared her the first time, but then Aemon said it was normal for he had lost so much blood and she calmed down. But now, she was just annoyed.

She had to leave Jon there like that and run down the stairs to find someone to carry him for her.

It was sheer luck she bumped into one of the massive builders. She had heard some call him Stoney in the past, but Arya knew that was just a nickname. His real name was… well, she wasn't sure.

Stoney was practically a giant, and he did not lack muscle either. He just slung Jon over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing and carried him up the stairs with easy steps.

After the sleeping Jon was set on his bed, Arya thanked him with a grateful smile as he took his leave.

She settled into the loveseat by the window with a sigh. She would stay for a while.

Arya studied his features, the dark hair they both shared with their father, the sheen of sweat barely visible on his forehead, the slight flush to his cheeks.

Good, she thought. He had looked so pale earlier.

A shiver racked through him, then. Was he cold?

She went to his bedside and pulled the furs up over his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open, and he pressed his lips together and then parted them again, as if to say something.

"If you start going on about Castle Black's defenses again," she told him before he could speak, "I swear I will stick you with the pointy end."

He smiled and gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Remember that, do you?"

She returned the smile, thinking of that day again. It had been the last time she had seen him. "Of course I do," she nodded and adjusted his furs once more. "Get some sleep."

His hand reached out and clasped around her arm. He gently pulled to get her to sit on the bed while she looked at him questioningly. "I love you."

She was slightly taken aback at his random profession, a little amused even. But she was touched, and her lips curved upwards at the sentiment. "I know," she told him softly, putting her hand over his. "I love you, too."

"I don't want you to leave," he confessed.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are. You know you're going to go to Dragonstone-"

"No, Jon. I'm not. Not… not right now, at least. Not anytime soon."

"It's for the best, really," he continued, ignoring her words. "Mance is not done with us. He _will _come back. Stannis has an army of thousands to keep you safe. All I have is a few hundred men."

"That's not true," she protested. "I'm always safe with you."

He shook his head. "I wish that were true. But we both know it's not." He sighed. "You have to go. Soon. Before they attack again."

"I can't go, now. I've hardly been here a week! I can't go another three years without seeing you. I can't do it. I _won't." _Then, she had an idea. Someone would have to be Lord of Winterfell. Someone would have to bend the knee on the Starks' behalf and ask for a pardon._ "_Come with me. Robb is gone and so are Bran and Rickon. You are next in line—"

"I'm not. I'm just a bastard. I can't inherit-"

"Robb didn't care. You were his brother, and that was all. He wanted you to be his heir, I know he did. He would have wanted you to—"

"Arya, even if he did, I-I can't just leave. Especially, with the wildlings attacking. I've said the words and I can't break my vows. And I'm Lord Commander, now. The Wall is my place," he finished confidently. "But you are right. Robb is gone and so are Bran and Rickon. Sansa is locked away in King's Landing. You are what is left. Winterfell is yours, now."

"_Ours_," she corrected. "Winterfell belongs to anyone with Stark blood in their veins."

"Ours," he agreed. "But more yours than mine."

* * *

After Jon had fallen back asleep, Arya retreated back to the Maester's chambers. Her body ached with protest at every step she took. She hadn't slept at all last night. She was exhausted and her bed was waiting for her. But instead of going straight to her bedroom, she was looking for Gendry.

The dull ache that had settled in her chest worsened, if that was even possible, as she thought on the arrangements Jon had told her would be made.

He would send a raven to Eastwatch-by-the-sea and ready a ship for her. They would wait for a raven back, just to be assured that they remained untouched by the wildlings. Someone Jon trusted would accompany her along the ride to the castle. Sam, maybe. And then she would sail far, far away from the Wall and her brother who manned it.

She craved Gendry and his soothing presence. His arms around her and his calm voice…

Before she had escorted Jon up to his chambers, Maester Aemon had put Gendry to work. She wasn't exactly sure how it happened. He had just handed him some medical supplies or other, and then all of the sudden Gendry was lugging around boiling wine and fetching water and carrying the injured to their beds. As soon as he finished with one task, the maester had another waiting.

Gendry didn't seem to mind too much.

When she arrived, Arya could not spot Gendry in the crowded room. She saw Sam, though. He was wrapping up a man's broken arm. His jaw was clenched as he tried to contain his hisses of pain.

"Where's Gendry?" she asked the steward.

"Don't know," he answered without looking up at her, instead focusing on the process of mending the broken arm. "He left a bit ago. With Wynton Stout and Dareon, I think…"

She had no idea what he would be doing with those two, and she said as much to Sam. He didn't know why, either.

She went looking for him. But no matter where she looked, he was nowhere to be found.

She ended up in the forge. It was empty. She figured he would show up there sometime.

Arya stretched out on the long bench with a sigh, and her eyes grew heavy. She was just so tired...

* * *

There was a faint, clicking of a door being shut. Her eyes fluttered open at the noise that disturbed her sleep. She sluggishly sat up, only half awake, and brushed back the fallen hair in her face.

She came to her surroundings. Gendry was standing by the door. He looked tired. There was some dirt on his face and on his clothes. Mud caked his boots, and his black fur cloak was in disarray.

Black. The color the Night's Watch was famous for.

She could not tear her eyes away from that cloak. He had just borrowed it. She knew that. He hadn't taken the black. But that had been his original plan.  
And now, he was there at the Wall, where he used to think he was going to spend the rest of his life. And she was to leave.

A little inkling of doubt nagged her from the back of her head. What if he does not come with you?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

Arya forced herself to look away from the cloak and meet his eyes. "Where'd you go off to? I couldn't find you..."

"Donal Noye is dead," he said plainly. "I helped dig his grave."

She opened her mouth slightly to speak but then closed it once more, unsure of what to say. He must have died in battle, she thought. Arya wondered how.

Gendry went over to the hearth to get the flames started. He then stopped at the anvil, and picked up the sword she knew Donal had left there. She had seen him working on it the past few days, having deemed it imperfect. It was strange to think he would not be able to finish it now.

"I'm sorry," Arya finally said. "I know you liked him."

"Yeah," he replied solemnly, his eyes downcast. He turned suddenly with a slight shake of his head and put the sword into the fire. "But I only knew him for a week."

Arya didn't know what to say to that or even how to comfort him.

When he pulled the blade out of the flames, he began to mold the red-hot metal.

She found herself watching the hammer coming down to beat the sword over and over again. All she heard was the clang of metal against metal. It rang through her ears so loudly it hurt.

Her heart quickened in her chest and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She could not look away from the blade. The blade that would belong to the Night's Watch…

The hammering abruptly stopped. The sound was gone and all she heard was Gendry's voice. "He used to smith for the Baratheons back in Storm's End, you know."

Arya snapped out of it. Her heart slowed and her shoulders visibly relaxed. What was wrong with her?

"Says he made Robert's war hammer," he continued his musing. He sighed and stared at the sword before him. "I think he knew."

She thought back to the day they had met Donal Noye. He dropped his hammer on his toe in surprise. Perhaps he had seen the resemblance…

Arya stood from the bench and came up beside him. He didn't look up as she approached. She put a hesitant hand on his arm. Her head went to rest on his shoulder while her arm reached around his back to hold him. His eyes never drifted up to her, but he acknowledged her by leaning into her touch and wrapping his arm around her waist.

And she was content to stay just like that for a while. His arm around her and her head on his shoulder…

Arya needed the comfort just as much as him.

* * *

"I'm leaving," she blurted. "Well, it's more like I'm getting sent away, really."

After simply standing there by the anvil for some time, holding each other, Arya and Gendry ended up on the bench. She could lay down flat and fit pretty easily, but he could not. So, he sat up with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out. She was nestled at his side, her head settled in his lap while he lazily stroked her hair.

She felt his fingers in her hair stop their previous ministrations. "What do you mean? Where?"

"Jon says it's not safe here. He's trying to convince me to go to Bear Island and stay with the Mormonts, but I… I don't want to. Not there."

"Where, then?"

"I-I want to go to Dragonstone and form an alliance with Stannis Baratheon to get my sister and Winterfell back," she said hurriedly. Her words were rushed and all jumbled together.

There was a long silence. She couldn't take it any longer. "Gendry?" she tried.

"You want to join the war?" he asked finally, aghast.

"Not particularly, but I don't know how else to save Sansa."

"I…" he trailed off. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," he said again.

This was it. She had to find out. She had to make sure. She swallowed her anxiety and forced her quiet voice not to quiver. "So… you will come with me, then?'

She was suddenly being pulled upright so she could look upon his face. Gendry had a slight furrow to his brow, and his eyes were searching hers. Arya bit her lip as she waited for his answer.

"Of course I'm coming with you. How could you think otherwise?"

"I… I don't know. You wanted to join the Night's Watch and now you're at the Wall-"

"I never wanted to join. I had nowhere else to go," he interrupted, shaking his head. He took her hand in his. "But now I do."

Arya returned the gesture and thread her fingers with his. She wanted to smile. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. But she couldn't do that. She had to warn him. She didn't want him to follow her into the Red Woman's flames.

"It's going to be dangerous, Gendry. He's going to know. You have their eyes. You probably have _his _eyes. You're a threat to his crown-"

"But I don't want to be King—"

You would be a better king than them all, she thought to herself. "He doesn't care."

"He would spill his own blood?"

"He already did with Renly."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not leaving you.."

A voice in the back of her head screamed for her to tell him to stay with Jon and wait for her. But she couldn't do it. Even with Dragonstone waiting for her, she had nowhere to go either. Nowhere except Gendry.

Instead, she kissed him. And she wondered if she had just sealed his fate.

**AN: This is so short. I'm sorry. It has been a busy week. The next one will be longer, I promise. As always, thank you for the reviews and the follows and the favorites and you know, just for reading. **


	19. The Lone Wolf

They were in her room in the King's Tower, no light peeking through her curtains. It was the dead of night. It was the only time that guaranteed them no interruptions.

She hadn't done this before. Not like this.

They had only been together twice since their first time three nights ago, and every time Gendry was on top. But now she was in control, and was a little lost on what to do.

Gendry lay back with his head in the pillows, his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting.

She bit her lip in apprehension and maneuvered her hips to take him inside of her, all in one swift motion. She hadn't meant to do so in such a quick manner, and gasped aloud in surprise.

He moaned his approval, the low growl caught in his throat. Arya only took a moment for herself to conform to his size. There was no pain any longer, but she still felt the need to adjust.

Again, she wasn't sure what to do. She tried for a simple up and down motion, her hands on his chest to steady herself. Her breath was in tune with the movements, hitching every time he filled her once more. Gendry's fingertips dug into her hips, always guiding her back down to him.

Instincts took over and soon she was grinding into him. She moaned at the unexpected sensation. She rocked her hips in an experimental circle, and closed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip.

And she decided that she liked being in control.

She alternated from moving up and down and circling around him for a minute, but soon settled for something in between both movements and began a steady rhythm.

Their eyes were locked together. His hands came to hers, and raised them off his chest, intertwining their fingers. She pushed forwards so their hands were pressed into the pillows on either side of his head. She was slightly bent over him now, and their foreheads almost brushing.

She captured his lips. Her pace was quickening. She felt herself nearing the edge.

And then the horn was blown. It called out twice, signalling attack.

She heard it. Gendry probably did, too. But it sounded so far away. Almost as if it was in another world or in another time. They were just too caught up in each other to care.

His mouth didn't wander from hers, her hips did not stop their movements above him, and their hands remained entangled. She was so close. She could feel it. Gendry's name was on her lips…

The door swung open. "Arya," her brother's voice called as he started to step through. She heard it loud and clear this time. Not exactly the person she had wanted to say her name.

She scrambled to get away from Gendry before he could see. But even with her on the farthest side of the bed, it was obvious what they had been doing. She wasn't wearing any clothes, and neither was Gendry. All they had was a sheet to cover themselves. Her face was flushed and her lips were swollen. Gendry's hair was mussed and love bites were fresh and visible on his neck.

Well, this was just…. horrifying. And awkward. So unbelievably awkward. She cursed herself for not locking the door.

She knew he was there, but he gave no indication that he was. He hadn't said anything at all. Arya meant to keep her eyes down, but the silence was killing her. She glanced up and saw his face gave away nothing, completely void of emotion. No surprise. No anger. No embarrassment. No disappointment.

Why had she expected disappointment? She wasn't doing anything wrong!

"Get your things. It's time to go. Wildlings are attacking. Sam's going to take you through the tunnels to Eastwatch."

_No. It was too soon. _Her current predicament was forgotten at this news. "Now? But we haven't even got a raven back yet!"

Jon visibly saddened. "I know, but we don't have to time to wait. Get dressed. Hurry." And with that, he left and closed the door behind him.

She unconsciously got up to do as he said, pulling on the first article of clothing she found and gathering the belongings she wanted to bring with her. Her mind wasn't working properly.

I'm leaving, was all she could think. I'm leaving Jon.

"Are you okay?"

She turned at Gendry's concerned voice. He was just behind her, newly dressed and with some clothes in hand. He looked a little frazzled. Tense, even.

His arm reached around her to put his clothes in the satchel that she had been stuffing her things into.

"Yeah," was her instant reply. "Fine."

But no, she wasn't okay. The last time she parted ways with a brother, she never saw him again.

And she never would.

* * *

Jon led them into the dark tunnels with a fiery torch to light the way. Well, perhaps Nymeria was leading them, who kept a steady pace ahead of them all.

Arya had a rough idea of where she was when she passed the large double doors of the library, but it wasn't long until they wandered further than she ever had.

Apparently, the tunnels stretched all the way to Eastwatch, and west to Shadow Tower. She wondered how long this journey would take. Eastwatch was leagues away.

Sam was waiting for them with three horses. He was already crawling atop his by the time they approached.

"I have to go back, now," Jon said, helping Gendry strap their bag to her saddle.

"Come with me," she tried again, biting her lip.

He turned to her "You know I can't."

Yes, she knew. Arya jumped up without warning and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her easily even at the abruptness of her embrace. She closed her eyes and she was back at Winterfell.

She was just a child and Jon was leaving for the Night's Watch all over again.

"Stay out of the fighting," Jon murmured. "Please."

"Okay." She wasn't sure if she intended to keep that promise. Arya wished she could ask the same of him, but she knew it was pointless.

Jon took a step forwards, or rather, backwards for her. She felt the saddle against her thighs and then she was set atop it and she was no longer in her brother's arms. "You _will_ write to me this time."

"I will," he agreed. "I promise."

Gendry was about to mount his own horse when Jon put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Her brother leaned in close to his ear, and said something Arya could not hear.

His whispered words made Gendry pale. And while she could not see all of Jon's face, she gathered from the tense nature of his jaw that whatever was being said were not exactly pleasantries.

She guessed it had something to do with the night's earlier events. She should be mad, and maybe she even was. But she wasn't going to waste her goodbye with Jon fighting.

Jon pulled back with a smile and clapped him on the back, making Gendry wince. He looked relieved to retreat to his horse.

Jon turned to her again, his lips pressed into a grim line. He's really leaving now, she thought.

He didn't say anything. He simply took a step closer, and placed a hand on her cheek with a sigh.

Goodbye, he said with the gesture, without uttering the words.

She closed her eyes at the touch. Goodbye, she thought back.

Her eyes opened when she could no longer feel his palm against her face. His back was to her, walking away. She forced the tears to remain at bay as she watched.

"Let's go," she heard Sam say, followed by the sound of hooves. "It's a ways to Eastwatch."

She didn't make a move to join them. Her eyes were glued on her brother.

"Arya?" It was Gendry this time who called her.

She finally tore her eyes from Jon's disappearing figure in the darkness and turned her horse's head towards her travelling companions, Nymeria following at her mount's hooves.

When both their battles were fought and won, they would return to each other again.

Yes, she promised herself, when their battles were fought and won…

* * *

They rode for three hours straight, hard and fast. Sam was eager to get away from Castle Black and the dangers that came with it. He would have liked to ride on, but the horses tired and so had she.

It was the middle of the night, after all.

Somehow, the wineskin had gotten passed around. She wasn't exactly how it had happened or how she had drank so much, but the result was the same.

Arya was drunk.

The last time she had drank this much, she had sworn off all alcohol in the midst of a particularly grueling hangover that ensued the following morning. Of course, it had not lasted. She would have a glass of wine or a mug of ale at dinner, but she hadn't let herself get so utterly and undeniably drunk since.

Her body tingled and buzzed. She felt the alcohol's warmth flowing through her, down her spine and in her blood. Jon was pushed to the very back of her mind. She felt free and careless. Happy.

She didn't care that it wasn't real.

Arya twirled around in a full circle, her arms spread wide with her wineskin in hand, the ruby red liquid sloshing loudly as she spun.

"What are doing?" Gendry's amused voice called.

She turned on her heel to face him and stepped over the sleeping lump that was Sam. "I don't know." She plopped down cross-legged on the rolled out furs next beside Gendry, and concluded, "Dancing."

She noticed how close they were sitting then. The firelight made his skin glow in the surrounding shadows. His eyes were illuminated, bright and blue. He had a slight alcohol induced flush to his cheeks, and Arya thought it suited him.

She pressed her lips to his jaw, and her hands drew him near. "You're so pretty," she slurred between kisses, "do you know that?"

Warm, too. She nuzzled into his neck. All she wanted was to get closer. She let her hand wander off his shoulder and down his chest and even further to the laces of his breeches…

He grabbed her hand, and chuckled. She could feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughed. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

"Not as much as you," Gendry continued. "You look about ready to pass out."

Her eyes _were _growing a little heavy… "But we never got to finish earlier."

"Don't remind me." She felt a shiver rack through him. "Your brother said some really, really terrifying things to me…"

"I knew it!" Arya was giggling. Why was she giggling? "So, what, you're never going to touch me again?"

"No, I will," he answered after some thought. "Just preferably when Sam is not asleep a few feet away."

"Not asleep yet," Sam chimed in. "Could you guys try to keep it down?"

She fell into another fit of giggles. What was wrong with her?

Gendry did not find it so amusing and tensed beside her. "Sam's not going to do anything," she told him. "And Jon is too far away…" She felt her good mood wavering. And she just suddenly felt so tired, both emotionally and physically. "He was just trying to scare you, anyway. He wouldn't actually hurt you… He wouldn't do that to me."

Arya closed her watering eyes and turned her body closer into Gendry's, trying to get more comfortable.

"I miss him already," she confessed. "And I'm just… I'm scared, Gendry. My father once told me that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives…. I ran and left my father to lose his head in King's Landing. Robb and Mother were alone; they left me behind at Riverrun. We _all _left Bran and Rickon." She was crying now. She blamed the wine. "If we had just stayed together, then maybe none of it would have happened. And now I've gone and left Jon…" Her eyes grew too heavy to keep open. "He's a lone wolf, now."

And the lone wolf had been alone before, and survived. But how much longer could he? How much longer could Sansa? How much longer could _she_?

Gendry whispered something, faraway in her haze of sleep.

* * *

A hand was on her shoulder. She blinked and let her eyes adjust. She was underneath the heavy furs, and she had a distant memory that this was not where she fell asleep. But everything was rather fuzzy.

Gendry was looming over her, his face was drained of color and his eyes were tired and his hair a mess. He did not look as if he was doing too great this morning.

A flask was in his hand, and he pushed it towards her. "Drink."

She had already felt the headache, but his voice worsened it. She raised her hand to her throbbing head, closing her eyes at the excruciating pain. Arya waited for it to pass and then eyed the flask suspiciously. The thought of more alcohol made her stomach twist. "What is it?"

"Water," he answered. He pushed it towards her again, and this time she accepted.

She sat up slightly, leaning on her elbow, to take a few tentative sips. She swallowed gratefully, the water bringing life to her dry throat.

"Do you want something to eat?"

She shook her head and handed the flask back to him. Food did not sound very appealing.

All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. And a have a bath, maybe. Yes, a bath sounded nice. But she knew that neither were an option. "We have to leave, don't we?"

He offered a sympathetic smile. "Sam is rather anxious about it, it seems."

She groaned internally and wondered if she could get through the day's ride without throwing up.

"Never again," she vowed as she stood. Arya would remain as sober as a silent sister.

"Isn't that what you said last time?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Arya made it through the day without vomiting, much to her surprise and pleasure. The ride had been nauseating and her head refused to stop pounding, but she pushed through.

Gendry, who had not drunk as much as her, seemed to be worse off. He didn't complain, but she caught him rubbing his temples more than once and his complexion was unusually pale, as if he would get sick at any moment. He didn't though.

When they finally stopped for the night- or day for all she knew, as the tunnels did not allow her to see the sun- the both of them were relieved and happy to collapse onto their fur makeshift bed.

The fire crackled subtly, and then more roughly as Sam poked at it. He was behind her, and therefore she could not see him, but she heard him.

Arya rolled off her back and onto her side to face Gendry. He was staring blankly up at the ceiling, perhaps deep in thought. She was beginning to realize he did that a lot. What was there to see?

Her eyes flickered up. All she saw was stone.

She refocused her curious gaze back onto him. He must have felt her eyes and tilted his head to look at her. The corner of his lips quirked up slightly and he raised an amused eyebrow. "You know, you stare at me a lot."

"Or maybe you're just full of yourself."

"No," he dismissed with a grin. "I'm pretty sure you just stare at me a lot."

She rolled her eyes, but she had to admit he was probably right. "Well, I couldn't help it. You looked bizarre, just staring like that. What is so interesting about the ceiling?"

"Nothing. I'm on my back, where else am I supposed to look except up?"

He had a point.

"Do you remember last night at all?"

The question came out of nowhere. Her brows furrowed at the abruptness, and then she tried to recount the night's events. Everything was blurred together and jumbled.

She remembered finding the wineskin. She remembered sharing it with Gendry. She remembered laughing. She remembered dancing. She remembered trying to take off Gendry's breeches…

Arya cringed, embarrassed. Sam had been there!

And lastly, she remembered something rather fuzzily about wolves. She had been talking about them. Why or what about, she had no idea. "Kind of… Why?"

"No reason."

"There's obviously a reason. I doubt I could have done anything more embarrassing than trying to take your clothes off. You can tell me."

He blushed, and answered, "It was nothing like that. You just… you talked about Jon a bit."

"Oh." Her eyebrows scrunched together. "That's all? What did I say about him?"

"Said you missed him," he shrugged.

"Oh," she said again. "Well, that is a bit embarrassing." Arya wondered if Sam had heard.

"Not as bad as trying to drunkenly jump me," he teased.

She was about to protest that she did not try to _jump _him. But she kind of had. "Shut up, will you?"

* * *

It wasn't until three days did she see the sun again. And gods, how she had missed it.

Her eyes stung and watered in protest, but she could not bring herself to look away.

Nymeria ran off as there was grass beneath their feet, howling happily and inadvertently intimidating the Night's Watch brothers she passed.

Arya had to refrain from doing the same as her direwolf. She wished to take off her boots and feel the grass between her toes. But she could not, for she had to greet with Cotter Pyke, commander of Eastwatch.

"M'lady," he welcomed and then turned to acknowledge her companions, "And friends." He smiled crookedly, in a way Arya thought was forced. "We have a ship readied for you. _Talon_. No ship is smoother. It should be sufficient for your journey to Dragonstone. If that is still where you wish to go?"

"Yes."

"Then allow me to see you off." He opened his arm and gestured for her to go first, toward the docks and the shore.

"Thank you, ser." That sounded strange on her tongue. It had been a while since she had talked this way. Smiling and echoing all the little proper responses Septa Mordane had taught her.

Someone came up to take her horse's reins out of her hands, and another took her satchel off of her shoulder and gathered the rest of their belongings to carry for her.

Arya tugged Gendry's hand to get him to follow her. She glanced at Sam to make sure he came, too.

"Nymeria, come," she called as she passed Cotter Pyke. She did not have to look over her shoulder to know the direwolf had obeyed.

"Has there been news of Castle Black and my brother?" Arya questioned as they walked. She held her breath as she waited for her answer. _Not today. Not today. Please, not today._

"No, m'lady. Not since the raven notifying us of your coming and ordering me to send half of my men to Castle Black…" he trailed off, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Her heart sank. She did not know if Jon was alive or dead. She was brought back to her surroundings when Gendry had taken her hand again. He stroked her fingers softly with his thumb. She tried to focus on that.

They were at the docks, now. She stood before _Talon, _and the sea green water beneath it. The ship was large, and fit for war. It was… _too much.  
_  
But I am going to war, she thought. It is only right that a ship as great as this takes me to it.

An envelope was being shoved into her hand then, sealed red with wax. She accepted it from Cotter Pyke with furrowed brows. "What's this?"

"A letter for King Stannis," he answered. "Asking him for his aid. It is much needed here at the Wall."

"You mean that he doesn't even know that what he claims to be his kingdom is under attack?"

"He knows. We've sent many ravens his way. But alas, no help has come." He smiled, sneering. "The damned birds must have gotten lost," he continued with a mocking tone, though she was not sure who he was mocking. Her, Stannis, or even himself?

"I'll be sure he gets it this time."

"The Night's Watch thanks you."

The man who had taken their luggage was moving to get it all aboard the ship. It was time to go.

She turned to Sam. A strange, sad smile pulled at her lips. She had only known him for just shy of three weeks, but she would miss him. "This is goodbye then."

"I suppose so."

"Look out for Jon for me?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Always do."

She nodded her thanks and then turned on her heel to join the man and her belongings onto _Talon. _Nymeria followed silently behind her, and together they left Sam and Gendry to their own farewells.

Arya crossed the deck, bound for the far edge. She got stopped along the way to meet the captain, as well some of the crew. She excused herself as graciously as possible.

When she finally arrived at the railing, she sighed and inhaled the sea air, facing the Bay of Seals and its open waters, away from the Wall.

Gendry had joined her, his loud footfalls the only indication of his presence. And then the crew was shouting orders and the sails were raised, and they were moving.

Arya did not look back. Not once.

**AN: I think we're well past due for a Gendry chapter? Perhaps next week we'll hear from him. As always, thank you for the lovely reviews, and for following and favoriting and reading.**


	20. The Stones of Hell

_Talon _moved swift and smooth, unlike _Titan's Daughter, _the only other proper ship Gendry had stepped foot on.

Maybe it was the water, unusually calm and quiet. He hoped it stayed that way for the rest of their journey. The weather, too. He hoped the clear skies would continue. They had almost drowned in a storm last time, in its heavy rain and angry waves.

His steps were undisturbed as he walked across the deck, the rock of the ship much too subtle for interference. He was bound for Arya's cabin.

She had wanted—no, demanded- to share one, but Gendry was much too skittish to do so with Jon's sworn brothers all around him. She had countered that Jon already knew, now. But that was exactly it, her brother had caught them and it had him shaken.

Jon had whispered some troubling words in his ear that night. Words of little sisters and bastards and dishonor, of painfully slow deaths and the removal of hands and other body parts…

But even those words could not make him send Arya away when she crawled into his bed at night.

It had become their nightly ritual. They would retire separately to their designated cabins, and then at whatever time she decided befitting, she would sneak into his room and into his arms.

He couldn't help it. Arya was surely to be the death of him.

It was her nameday. She was turning six-and-ten, a year younger than himself.

In his hand, he held her present. He wished he could have gotten her something better, but he didn't have any money and there obviously wasn't a smithy on the ship, so options were limited.

If she had still been in Riverrun with her family, perhaps she would be getting married to the Frey boy today. Arya had said they were waiting for her to come of age.

It hurt just to think about it. Her not being with him, her with someone else, someone else she didn't even want to be with…

It didn't matter now. She wasn't marrying him. She never was, really. She had intended to run away.

Gendry arrived at her door and knocked. Her voice was muffled through the heavy oak as she bid him entrance. He hid her present behind his back before he did so.

Arya was standing in front of a full length mirror, her back was to him and her head tilted, observing her reflection.

She wore a dress, a rare occurrence, and usually one of force. But who was there to force her?

The fabric was light and thin, dyed pale blue and cinched at her waist, flowing nicely off her hips and down her legs. The sleeves were short and made of lace, perhaps two shades darker. And the back was cutout in a wide, deep V-shape, revealing the creamy skin his fingers had run over a thousand times.

He had the urge to do that now, to let his fingers trail down her spine and press his lips to her neck, to get her to close her eyes and sigh sweetly through her slightly parted lips.

Her grey eyes met his in the mirror, and the word _beautiful _came to mind. It wasn't just the dress, though. She always was, and practically oblivious of it.

She turned around, her skirts swooshing as she moved. "Is it innocent looking enough?"

Innocent? The back was missing. "Why?"

"I don't want Stannis to see me as a threat. I thought the dress might help me look more… delicate."

He frowned. "Why would he see you as threat?"

"I'm the traitor's sister, remember?"

He hadn't really thought of how this would be dangerous for _her. _Stannis had no reason to harm her, or at least so he thought. Now, he was worried. And the captain had told him they were only a few days away from Dragonstone…

Arya seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't start. I really doubt he would try anything. There really isn't much of a point. I'm just a _girl, _to him anyway. No one who could raise an army and take his crown."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but he had learned to never underestimate Arya Stark. "Could you?"

"The army, for sure," she nodded. "But the 'winning the crown' part is a bit harder. I don't want it, anyway. I just want Winterfell and my sister." Her eyes wandered to the arm behind his back. She smiled slyly and crept closer. "What have you got there?"

_Oh. _He had forgotten. He was about to willingly show her what he was hiding, but she was impatient and too quick, spinning around him to claim her prize. Her smile widened as she unwrapped the linen cloth to discover a lemon cake, her favorite.

"Happy nameday," he said, somewhat sheepish. "I wanted to get you a proper present, but—"

"Shut up, don't be stupid. You know how much I love lemon cakes." Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him through her lashes, and her bottom lip caught softly between her teeth. "Thank you."

With that, she took a step to the side and collapsed onto the bed. Her fingers dug into the cake to pull herself off a piece and popped it into her mouth. "Want to share?"

"You know I never turn down a sweet." He came to join her on the bed and she broke him off a not so generous piece, obviously unwilling to give up _too_ much of her present, which did not fail to amuse him.

"When was your nameday?" she asked as he took a bite. "It must have happened. You never said."

"Robb and your mother had just… I wasn't even thinking of it." You were so out of it, Gendry thought. I was too terrified to think about anything else.

"Oh." She frowned, and then unconsciously brought the last bit of cake to her lips. "You could've told me. I still would have liked to get you something."

But she had given him something. She had been gone, so far away and out of his reach, even though she had been lying right next to him. And then she came back. That was all he wanted.

Well, almost.

"If you want to make it up to me, I think I know a few ways…" he trailed off as he leaned in.

Her lips were soft against his, tasting sweet of frosting and sugary lemon. He felt her fingertips drag up against his neck and settle in his hair. She drew him near, egging him to deepen the kiss. But he kept it light, just a tender brushing of their lips.

When he pulled away, there was a subtle flush to her cheeks. Her eyes opened, darkened, dazed, and fixed on him. "I think I know a few _better _ways…" And then she pulled him to her once more.

There was a knock at the door, and Gendry had never moved faster. He flew off the bed and away from Arya, not stopping until his back was met with the wall.

She rolled her eyes at him and suppressed a laugh. "Come in!"

Whoever was at the door, he hoped they would not notice what they had been up to. He quickly searched for any obvious giveaways. Her braid was a little loose, but wasn't it always? Yeah, he was sure it was fine. She fixed her dress that had become bunched up, and he silently thanked her for that.

"A raven has come for you, my lady." Gendry recalled this man often worked the oars. Jason or Jaxon… something with the "j" sound, anyway. "From Castle Black."

Arya jumped off the bed at that and grabbed the little scrolled up letter right out of his hands. He watched the relief flood over her face as she read.

"Jon's okay," she smiled to him. "They've won. Mance Raydar is dead. "

* * *

"Perhaps… perhaps you should stay here."

Arya swallowed with unease, her shoulders tense. From the safety of their ship, they looked over Dragonstone in the not so far off distance. He could just barely out the five or so men on the shore, their armor shining, catching the moonlight. Were they waiting for them?

The castle was unlike any other he had seen, decorated with gargoyles and dragons, and the stones black as death.

_The stones of hell_, he recalled some saying. But that didn't scare him.

"It would just be for a minute," Arya continued, turning to him. "You can stay here, on the boat, while I go talk to them—"

"If you really think there is a chance in hell that's happening—"

"_Please_."

She was begging, he realized. Her eyes were desperate and pleading him to understand. Her words were frayed with anxiety and hidden fears that he wished to soothe.

Arya took a step towards him, with a hopeful smile that asked him of everything. "Just stay. Please."

"No." How could one word be so hard to say?

Her face fell, and he swore a knife had just been plunged deep into his gut. I'm sorry, he thought.

She took a moment to recover, and then she looked up at him again, the corner of her lips quirking up so very little that he almost didn't catch it. "Together, then?"

"Together." Like always, he thought.

* * *

One of the crewmembers rowed them to shore in a small, wobbly boat. The waters were rough, and the rocks sharp. Arya had become oddly calm, quiet and at ease. Gendry was the unsettled one now, holding his breath every time they came too near a particularly jagged rock.

The knots in his stomach finally came loose as the five knights helped pull their rowboat to shore and his feet were once again able to hit solid ground.

"Welcome, Lady Arya," one greeted.

Gendry had to admit she did look like a lady. She wore the same blue and lace dress she had tried on that day, in an attempt to look more 'delicate', as she had put it. He supposed it was less threatening than wearing a sword in her belt for all to see. But he knew hidden underneath her skirts, a dagger was belted snugly to her thigh, newly sharpened and ready for the kill.

"King Stannis awaits you in the throne room," he continued.

"Then, please. Show us the way."

"His Grace's wishes are that your friends stay behind," another chimed in. "The wolf, as well."

"Gendry comes," Arya established, unfazed. "And so does _the wolf_."

At her side, Nymeria growled for emphasis.

"But, my lady—"

"If they don't come, then neither do I. If Stannis doesn't want to see me…"

The knights harrumphed and gritted their teeth in frustration. One reached out, as if to seize her by force, but Nymeria was quick to defend her companion and growled once again, snarling and teeth bared.

"Oh, I wouldn't try that," Arya told them, her eyes laughing at them.

They were at a loss of what to do.

"Fine," he grunted. "They can come."

She smiled, pleased, or perhaps to just rub it in their faces that she had won. And then, the knights begrudgingly began to lead the three of them to the throne room.

"We've been long expecting you, Lady Arya," one said. "So has Lady Melisandre."

That must be the red priestess, he thought briefly. How did they know of their coming?

"Did you send a raven?" Gendry whispered to her.

The color had drained from her face. "No."

* * *

Gendry fell to his knees before the king. _Your uncle_, a voice inside his head reminded. But he wasn't, though. Not really.

Arya knelt beside him, her head kept down. He could just barely make out her face in the corner of his eye, hidden behind a veil of tousled hair. She was rolling her eyes, and he hoped no one else had caught it. Gods, why can't she be careful for once?

"Rise," Stannis told them.

They both stood at his voice. He sat in his throne, on a platform only a few stairs above them. Gendry had to admit he saw the resemblance that Arya was always telling him about. His own eyes were staring back at him. It was... eerie.

On the king's right was a bearded man with missing fingers and an onion sewn onto his breast, and on his left was a woman donned all in red, even her hair was colored the same.

Gendry thought back Thoros of Myr and his faded red robes and his dull eyes…

But her. He had never seen eyes that burned so bright. She was positively ablaze.

"The wolf and the bull, come to play with the dragons," Melisandre spoke. "Just like I said."

"Aye. Just like you said," Stannis said, his curious gaze on him. "Except this one is more stag than bull."

"I told you that, too," she reminded.

"Yes, you did." He addressed Gendry this time when he continued, "You know who your father is, boy?"

He glanced quickly at Arya, who was only glaring at Stannis and did not give him any notion of whether to deny this or not. "Yes."

"Say it." It was the Red Woman who spoke to him, now.

"King Robert."

"Yes. A king, he was. His blood runs strong through you, powerful and—"

"Enough," Stannis interrupted her. "I already said no."

What were they talking about?

"No to what?" Arya asked, obviously wondering the same thing.

"Nothing." His voice was final, telling them that was the end of it. "Now tell me, what brings you here?"

"You know what brings me here." Arya's eyes flickered to the Red Woman for the briefest of seconds. "Joffrey's head," she concluded. "I think it's past time it's on a spike, don't you?" She suddenly remembered something. "Oh, I also have a letter from the Night's Watch—"

"We've already got their letters," Stannis dismissed her with a twinge of exasperation. "All twenty of them."

"Well, no help came." She could not keep the contempt out of her tone.

Gendry held his breath as Arya basically shoved the letter into Stannis' face, forcing him to take it out of her hands. He ground his teeth and his eyes seemed to scream, "I am your King!" But either she did not notice, or she did not care.

"Your half-brother speaks of impossible things," Stannis told her through his teeth.

"Impossible things?" Arya questioned, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

_Others, _Gendry thought. Jon and Sam had mentioned them once in his presence, and did not offer him any explanation. He had never told Arya because... well, because it was absolutely mad!

The King placed the letter back in Arya's hands. "Read it and you'll understand."

She just stared at the envelope between her fingers, and Gendry had no idea what was running through her head.

"You would call your bannermen?" asked the man on the king's right, forcing Arya's attention off the letter.

She nodded. "There are some conditions, of course."

"What makes you so certain they will come?" he continued.

"They were loyal to my father, thus they are loyal to me. They will come."

"What are these conditions?" It was Stannis this time.

"Safety, for one."

"Both of you are safe here—"

"Not just us. My sister, Sansa. She remains in King's Landing as the Queen's captive. Whatever fighting is done there, I want her unharmed."

"No harm will come to her by the hands of my men."

"I don't want _any _harm to come to her," Arya growled, sounding reminiscent of Nymeria.

"I can't control what the Lannisters do."

Arya let that go, for now. "What about Jeyne Westerling? Do you know of her whereabouts?"

"She is at the Crag, with her family."

"I want her unharmed as well. A pardon—"

"No," Stannis grunted. "The Westerlings conspired with the Lannisters. Why would you want to help them? They had a hand in the Red Wedding."

This was certainly the first time Gendry had heard of this, and from what he gathered from the look on her face, Arya had not heard either. She stayed silent for a long moment, her eyes on the floor.

"No." She looked back up. "I don't believe you. Not… not Jeyne."

"It is the truth."

"Think what you want, but her safety is part of the deal."

"And her family?"

She clenched her jaw. "Do what you will."

Stannis nodded, and Arya continued. "I want Tywin Lannister dead."

"Done."

"The Freys, too."

"All of them?"

"Just those responsible. Lord Walder, especially."

"I think that can be managed, my king," Melisandre said.

He nodded after a moment of hesitation. "Very well."

"Lastly, a pardon for the remaining Starks. All of our original titles and lands will be restored. My sister will be Warden of the North, once she returns, of course."

"The Boltons hold Winterfell."

"And?"

"It may not be as easy as you think."

"You have an imposter," Melisandre explained. "She's been married to Roose Bolton's bastard, giving him claim to Winterfell."

This seemed to enrage her. "_What_? Who?"

"I haven't seen her face. But this wasn't her choice, I know that much. Every night, her cries echo through the halls, but the one she calls never comes…" Her eyes were faraway by the time she finished, and burning brighter, if that was even possible.

"They will say you are the pretender," Stannis said. "And that this girl is the true Arya Stark."

"People can vouch for me," she said through her teeth. "Jon. Sansa. _You. _And my uncles, if they're still alive."

"They are," the Red Woman spoke up. Arya perked up a bit at that. "But captives."

"The Boltons will not defy us once we defeat the Lannisters," Stannis insisted. "Winterfell will be yours then."

"I'm a _Stark,_" Arya asserted herself. "Winterfell is always mine."

* * *

It was less than ten minutes later that Gendry watched Arya as she wrote onto the parchment by candlelight, the jumbled little nonsensical letters ordering the Stark bannermen to Dragonstone. When she went to add her titles after her signature, Stannis stopped her.

"Make it 'Arya Stark of Winterfell, _Queen in the North'."_

"W-what?" Arya was taken aback. "Even if… It would be Sansa. Not me."

"Sansa is held captive, so this falls to you. It's just a title. It means nothing. It comes with no real power. This will just give the Northmen a reason to fight. Know that's all it is. You will bend the knee."

"I already did." And she signed her name, followed by _Queen in the North._

* * *

A knight led them down the hall. "Your room is here," he told Arya, nodding to the door on his left. "Yours," he spoke to Gendry now, "is just over there." He gestured to the room a few doors down.

"That's not necessary. Gendry is my… _protector_." Arya forced that word to roll off her tongue, and it did not come smoothly. The last thing she ever wanted to do was admit she ever needed protecting. "I would feel safer if he was with me."

"I promise no harm will come to you. I'll be guarding your door all night—"

"Perhaps it is you who I need protecting from. Our king named my family traitor, did he not?"

With that, she left the bewildered knight alone outside her door, pulling Gendry into the room with her.

"Arya, you need to be more careful," Gendry insisted as soon as the door was clicked shut. "You basically just told a member of the King's Guard that you don't trust the King."

"I don't," she said plainly.

"Stop saying stuff like that! It's considered _treason_."

"Stannis isn't going to hurt me. He needs me."

"Right now, he needs you. But what about after he has his crown? He won't need you then. When this is all over and done, he will remember."

"I…" Arya looked conflicted. She knew he was right. "I'll… I'll try to play nice."

He let a breath out. "Thank you."

She moved to the bed, sitting to remove her shoes one-by-one. "Stannis would probably want you to stay in a different room…"

"Probably."

"Go, then." Her lips were stubbornly pursed, a defiant tilt to her head. She would not tell him to stay, he knew that much. She was baiting him.

"No." He shook his head, and cracked a smile. "I don't want to."

He took a step towards her and softly kissed her lips, and then her jaw and her neck and her shoulders and her collarbones and chest… His lips grazed against every inch of skin available to him.

They had fallen back onto the pillows. She molded perfectly against him. He felt her soft sighs on his ear, her lips brushed against his lobe. His laces would not come undone soon enough. When he moved inside her, he tried to muffle her moans with a kiss and hoped the walls were thick.

Afterwards, they lay together in their wrinkled and unkempt clothes, nodding off in one another's arms.

A knock at the door disturbed them. Arya went to answer it, rubbing her tired eyes and straightening her skirts along the way. Gendry rolled onto his side and pulled the covers up to his chin, missing her warmth in a haze of sleep.

The door creaked open, and he is bombarded with light. "Arya!" someone called out.

A child's voice, he thought. A small figure rushed through the doorway, and clung to her waist.

"Rickon?" Arya's shell-shocked voice said. It was even shakier as she continued, "Bran?"

_What?_

**AN: Chapter 20! Ah, I just don't believe it. Thank you for reading and sticking with me this long!**

**Oh, and sorry about the cliffhanger! Next week, back to Arya POV...**


	21. Eighteen Thousand and Counting

**A/N: Someone asked about everyone's ages so here we go: Bran is 13 (10 at the beginning of AGOT). Rickon is 9 (6 in AGOT). Sansa is almost 18 (14 in AGOT). Jon is 21 (18 in AGOT). And we know Arya is 16 (13 in AGOT) and Gendry is 17. Basically, I've just made everyone a few years older. **

Arya didn't believe what she was seeing. But there they were, right before her eyes. Bran was slung over Hodor's back, his legs long and dangling over each side. Rickon's arms were around her waist, his head almost reaching her chest.

_He is taller. _The thought was faraway in her head.

This was a dream. It had to be. They were…

Her eyes were watering. "I… you're dead." It was just a whisper upon her lips.

"We thought the same of you," Bran smiled. "Until she found us."

"Hodor," Hodor added happily. It had been so long since she had heard that.

"This is a dream," she insisted. Arya felt the tears on her cheeks. "Theon Greyjoy, h-he k—"

"Arya, no. He didn't. It was someone else. Someone else Theon played off as us."

Bran outstretched an arm to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. He cannot walk. He wanted to embrace her, and he couldn't. If this were a dream, he would be able to walk.

A sob racked through her at this realization and she enveloped them all into her arms, Rickon and Hodor and Bran. All of them.

"Why is there a man in your bed? Who's he?"

Arya had forgotten. She felt a flood of heat rush to her cheeks at Rickon's question. Well, at least she wasn't crying anymore. She wiped away the remaining tears off her face. "Umm… That's Gendry."

Rickon seemed to be oblivious to the half-dressed 'man in her bed' and its implications, but Bran raised an eyebrow. He was too old. Dammit.

"Hey," Gendry greeted awkwardly. "I… um... I should go. And leave you to, uh, catch up—"

Don't get up, you idiot. Have you even laced your breeches up? "No, you stay. We'll go… to the kitchens, yes. I'm hungry. Are you hungry, Rickon?" She was counting on him still having that insatiable appetite.

He tilted his head, deep in thought. "Now that you mention it… yes, I think I am."

"Brilliant," Arya grinned. "Let's go see what they can fix up for us." She was pushing everyone out the door, and she turned to Gendry just before filing out herself. "I'll be back later."

He better not have gone back to his room when she returned. She had _just _won that battle, and she didn't want to fight it again.

All Jon's fault, Arya thought bitterly. She was admittedly a little angry with her brother on the Wall. Whatever he had said…

"So," Bran teased. "Hungry in the middle of the night, are you?"

"I skipped dinner," she offered in explanation, a new flush to her cheeks.

* * *

Gendry had not left when she returned to her chambers. She inadvertently woke him when she lay beside him, her back pressed against his chest and the mattress shifting ever so slightly.

"How?" he mumbled sleepily in her ear whilst he pulled her closer. "How are they here?"

"The Red Woman," Arya said simply.

She learned of their whereabouts. In her fires, Arya could only assume. Her men had found Bran wandering about the North with Howland Reed's children. Her brother tells her that they had been bound for the Wall. Rickon had been sought out in Skagos, with a wildling woman both of her youngest brothers had befriended.

"She's not like Thoros, is she?"

"I don't think so," she confessed after a moment of pause. "She's… different."

That night, her dreams were fraught with ghosts and memories of a time long ago.

Her lady mother complained of the bird nest Arya called hair, and Septa Mordane tried to smooth it out. Maester Luwin broke bread with them and talked of stars and moons.

Jon wore a careless smile in place of battle scars. Robb laughed along with his half-brother, and winked when he caught her eye across the dinner table. Sansa sang a pretty little song, of summer skies and golden sunsets.

Theon Greyjoy was friend rather than foe, and slyly refilled her wineglass when no one else was looking.

Bran noticed and pretended not to. Rickon begged her to take him riding the following afternoon.

And her father, he smiled affectionately at her and… no, something was terribly wrong.

His head sat upon his shoulders, disjointed and sewed on, the uneven stitching the only thing holding it in place.

The room quieted around her. The grotesque sight made her stomach twist and bile rise in her throat. Horror was in her eyes as she flew out of her chair and away from her father, and the ground seemed to spin beneath her feet.

That was when she woke, Gendry's hands giving her shoulders a gentle shake. Arya forced herself to breathe.

Her heart beat a mile a minute. It was still dark, and she lay back down and waited for it to slow.

Bran and Rickon had just come back from the grave and she was having nightmares?

Would the dreams ever end? What of her pain and grief? Would she always feel so empty?

* * *

The nerve!

Stannis, nor his Hand or Red Woman, had told her that her brothers were at Dragonstone! No one even told her they were _alive.  
_  
And now he _summons _her to breakfast?

Stannis. _Fucking. _Baratheon.

She was ready to strangle him with her bare hands! She didn't even care that it would lead to the loss of her head. He had managed to enrage her like no one else.

A voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Gendry told her to be careful, that she was being stupid and careless. She _had _promised him that she would try to play nice…

No. She was too angry to think on that at the moment.

And so she stormed onto the little patio that managed to look bleak besides the gardens around them. The flowers were dying, browned and crumbling to pieces. Befitting for Dragonstone, Arya mused.

She approached the table where its occupants were currently breaking their fast.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Arya demanded from the King, the fury fresh and prevalent in her blood. "I came here, and we talked—we talked about how Sansa was heir! And I wrote your stupid letter to call my bannermen, and you never said anything!"

Stannis was unfazed. "This about your brothers," he stated the obvious.

"No, it's about how ugly the curtains are in my room. A little heads up would have been nice." Arya rolled her eyes. "Of course it's about my brothers!"

"No harm has been done," he dismissed her. "Ser Flynn brought them to your room last night, did he not?"

She was practically shaking with rage. "But you kept it from me! None of you said anything!" She directed this to the Onion Knight and Lady Melisandre, who sat across from their King.

The Red Woman took this as an invitation to cut in. "I—"

"And _you,_" Arya turned to her specifically. "You are the worst of them all! You… you…" _Visited me in my dreams and never made any mention of it? _But Arya couldn't say that. Even admit it, really.

But gods, she looked exactly as she had in her dreams. And she knew. She knew that Arya was coming, and that Gendry was, too. And his parentage before even laying eyes on him.

"I am sorry I kept it from you so long," she apologized, her eyes looking surprisingly sincere. "But the Lord of Light only allowed me to tell you so much."

"Why?" she demanded. Arya was doing a lot of demanding today.

"I don't know," was her only response.

Arya felt her rage dissipating, and she collapsed into a nearby empty chair at the table with an exasperated sigh. "That's a first."

A feminine laugh came from the end of the table. Arya looked up and acknowledged this woman's presence for the first time. Had she been there the entire time?

She could not be more than twenty, and was donned in worn and ragged leather, contrasting with her soft features. Her shoulder length hair was black as night, and her eyes reminded Arya of the deep ocean waters, as well as a certain stubborn bull. "Who are you?"

She stifled her chuckles well enough to answer, "Mya Stone." _Stone. _"I only came because I thought you might've brought your friend."

"Gendry?" she pondered further. "Why? What do you want with him?"

"He's my half-brother, and I wanted to meet him." Mya looked more than a little miffed. "Have you got a problem with that?"

Arya decided then that she liked this Mya Stone. "No." She felt a smile pulling at her lips. "I think it's great." Gendry could have actual _family_. A sister who wanted to acknowledge his existence.

"Good," Mya said, pleased. "Edric will want to meet him, too. Shireen—"

"Not Shireen," Stannis interrupted, grinding his teeth.

"And why not?" demanded Mya. "You know she's quite fond of Edric and I—"

"I don't _know_ him. Who knows wh—"

"I do." It was Melisandre who spoke, surprising everyone at the table. "I know him well enough. Seen him in the fires… The little princess is in no danger in his presence."

Suspicion was set into Arya. The Red Woman was not doing this simply in the goodness of her heart. No, she had motives. But what were they?

Gendry's estranged sister smiled broadly. "See, no harm to it. Shireen will be so excited to hear about her new cousin."

Stannis seemed to ready to protest, but Mya ran off before he could get a single word out. The king was grinding his teeth without abandon.

"There really is no harm to it, Your Grace," Ser Davos told him. "He is your nephew. The princess's cousin. And seems to be a good enough lad."

"More than good enough," Arya corrected, whilst beginning to make her plate. "Better than—" She had been about to tell the King that his nephew was better than him. "Better than most."

* * *

The Stark bannermen gradually came to Dragonstone, camping outside the castle walls. First was the Mormonts with Lady Maege and two of her many daughters. Next was House Flint, old Lord Torghen's sons in his stead. The Wulls followed. And then the Glovers. And Liddles. The Manderlys had sent a raven saying they could expect their arrival this upcoming week.

Howland Reed was the only one who had not answered her summons. Arya thought it strange, considering his children were currently hosted at Dragonstone.  
Perhaps she could ask Meera or Jojen to write to their father. Bran could convince them, if she could not.

If Howland did not come, Arya did not doubt that Stannis would make his children hostages. They already were, though. Weren't they? If they wanted to leave, they would be stopped.

But that was not the case. They had chosen to stay with Bran. For now, anyway.

The wildling women had chosen to stay with Rickon, too, much to the King's dismay. Arya decided that no one could frown and grind their teeth as much as Stannis Baratheon. Did the man ever smile?

Osha was not very taken with Arya. She really had no idea why. The woman barely ever spoke two words to her. And whenever she came around, Osha would bow her head in this way that somehow managed to be so full of spite.

In fact, she was doing it just now. Arya couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"

"_Arya_," Bran chastised from the little nook he had made on the library floor, buried in a book. "Leave her be. She hasn't done anything."

"She hasn't done anything, per se. But she hates me, and I haven't done anything to deserve it!"

"Nothing?" she growled through her teeth. "You left them!"

"Left them?" Arya echoed, puzzled. What did she mean?

Osha was apparently the one getting chastised, now. "Stop this," Bran told her with a sharp look.

But she would not back down. "You abandoned your little brothers! Where were you when Theon Greyjoy took your castle? Where was your mother and the eldest one—"

"Shut up!" she snapped. "Don't talk about them!" Not Robb. Not Mother.

Arya felt guilty. She should have been there. Instead, she had been on the Kingsroad, in Harrenhal, and everywhere else in between with the Brotherhood, but always she had been much too far south. But she had tried.

"I—" Arya turned to Bran, and found that she could not look him in the eyes. "I tried, Bran. I really did. I tried so hard to come home. And when I heard…" She swallowed the lump in her throat. She remembered smashing tableware, holding Harwin at knifepoint, the crying… "I'm so sorry."

"Come here," he told her gently. Arya could only obey, kneeling in front of him, amidst a stack of books. She still could not lift her eyes to him. Instead, she stared at the floor. "I don't blame you. Neither does Rickon, though he doesn't really understand."

"He should," Osha cut in, her voice as sharp as a knife. "Both of you should."

"_Enough_." He sounded like a proper lord. "Arya, I know you would have been there if you could. But there was nothing you could have done, even if you were there—"

"I could have cut Theon Greyjoy's throat," Arya's eyes shot up, fury blazing. "That's something."

"It wasn't that easy. He was surrounded by ironmen. And he didn't actually kill us... I… I'm not sure he ever really would."

She sniffed. "He still took our home."

"Aye." He took her hand. "But we're getting it back now."

Bran smiled, and she could not help but smile back. It had always been that way.

"Go now," he continued. "Don't you have that council meeting?"

"I wasn't invited," Arya said, the bitterness peeking through her voice. She was still a little put out about being excluded from these meetings.

Bran grinned. "Invite yourself, then."

He's right, she realized. Arya laughed a bit as she stood. "I'll see you at dinner," she said in place of her farewell.

When she passed Osha on the way to the door, her feet stopped on their own accord. She apparently felt the need to say something. "I… Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn't."

Arya didn't wait for a response, and bounded out the library and into the corridor, smiling all the way.

* * *

The Chamber of the Painted Table was exactly as it was in her dreams. She tried not to think about that.

Stannis was already in the midst of his meeting. Lady Melisandre was there, of course. She always was, like the King's shadow. Ser Davos was there as well, sitting on his right. But that was all who sat at his table. He didn't trust anyone else.

"My lady," the Onion Knight greeted as she not-so-gracefully barged in. "What brings you here so… abruptly?"

She was about to correct him, but the Red Woman beat her to it. "Call her Arya. She doesn't like it when people call her by her proper titles."

She hated it when she just… _knew _stuff. "I want to be a part of these meetings."

"No," grumbled Stannis. Well, she had expected that.

"Why?" She crossed her arms. "Because I'm a girl?"

"Women don't belong on war council meetings. Not to mention one who has barely seen sixteen years."

"Well, _this _woman of sixteen years has eighteen thousand and counting men outside, willing to die for you and your cause_. _I have a right to be here."

There was a silence. Had she won them over?

"My king," Melisandre spoke. "She is right."

"She is just a _girl_." He was grinding his teeth, again.

The corner of her lips perked up, and Arya wondered if this was the first time she had seen the Red Woman smile. "So am I."

"It is different," he protested. "_You _are different. You have your god—"

"And she has an army."

That shut him up. Arya took that as an invitation to sit. "I just want to oversee things. Make sure that my men are not walking blindly into the fire, so to speak." She gave a smile to the Red Woman.

"Some will die," Ser Davos told her. "It cannot be helped."

_I know that better than anyone_. "I know," she told him solemnly. "But I want to prevent it in what ways I can. I don't want it to be like the Battle at Blackwater Bay."

"That only happened because I wasn't there." She barely caught the pointed look she sent Ser Davos's way. "The Lord of Light will give me the strength to contain the wildfire."

That sounded a lot like blindly walking into the fire to Arya. "You mean to attack King's Landing again, then?" When that was affirmed, she continued, "If that's true, and you can really control the wildfire, why haven't you attacked before?"

"The death toll was too great. We lacked the numbers. But now we have you," she smiled, "and your eighteen thousand and counting."

* * *

After the meeting was over, and both the King and his Hand had filed out, Arya stopped Melisandre before she too could leave.

"Why did you help me?" She chewed her bottom lip. The Red Woman took a step closer to her, and Arya forced herself not to take a step back. "You've done it before, too. With Gendry and Shireen."

"I want you to trust me."

"Why should I trust you?" She glared through suspicious eyes. "You kept Bran and Rickon from me, you manipulated my dreams, and I'm pretty sure you want to sacrifice my boyfriend—"

Melisandre broke out into an amused half smile, half laugh. "I don't. The Lord of Light has plans for him. So does our king."

"What kind of plans?" Arya treaded carefully here.

"It's not my place to say. But you'll find out soon." Melisandre suddenly pulled an envelope from her red robes. "A letter came for you. From your bastard brother on the Wall."

She warily took it off her hands. "Why do you have it?"

"I didn't read it, if that's what you're thinking. Look at the seal. His and untouched." It was. "Maester Pylos couldn't find you this morning. He gave it to me to give you."

The Red Woman turned to leave, and Arya stood there fingering the seal. She looked up suddenly. "Fine. You want me to trust you. Tell me what you know of the Others, and I'll try."

Arya had read the letter Stannis Baratheon refused. And he was right. Her brother spoke of impossible things. But Jon was no liar.

She had successfully gotten Melisandre's attention. Her dress rustled as she turned back around to face her. "Cold. Soulless, evil creatures. A darkness not even R'hllor can shed light on."

"They are real, then?" Arya inquired further.

"Maybe."

"My brother wouldn't lie."

"No, I don't think he would."

"Stannis has to go to the Wall. He… he has to—"

"He won't. He doesn't believe."

"He'll believe _you,_" she insisted._ "_He always believes you."

"Not always. I'm sorry, but nothing can be done."

Arya stood there helplessly as she left. Could nothing truly be done?

* * *

_Give our brothers my love, and tell Bran to write if he can. Stay safe, little sister._

_- Jon_

It was short. They always were, but Arya cherished them just the same. They told her Jon was alive, what more could she ask for?

Arya sat on the window seat, her brother's letter clutched tightly in her hands. She peered through the glass and took in the view. She could see the ocean from here. The sun was setting, reflecting blood red and orange on the waters. The tide was pushing in, crashing foamy white onto the rocks.

Dragonstone was… interesting. A little creepy, honestly. The dragon statues always seemed to stare at her. It was unnerving.

Her room was nice enough. Expensive, was what came to mind. Lush velvets everywhere you looked, soft feathery pillows, rich colors of deep red, and rugs that were probably Myrish.

It was strange to think generations and generations of Targaryens had been roaming these halls, perhaps sleeping in this room…

She wondered if her Aunt Lyanna had ever stayed here. It wasn't impossible; there was a chance Rhaegar brought her.

The details of the whole affair were spotty at best for Arya. Lyanna was never mentioned much in Winterfell. All she knew was that the Dragon Prince kidnapped her and then she died in the Tower of Joy. Of a fever, she recalled her father telling her.

Arya turned at the soft _click _of the door being opened. It was Gendry. "How was your lesson?"

Maester Pylos had already been teaching Mya to read and write, and Ser Davos suggested that Gendry join them. "Frustrating. How does it come so easy to you? Edric and Shireen, too. And she's _ten_."

"It will be like that for you too, I promise. It just takes time."

"Mya pushed over the table again." A ghost of smile played on his lips as he sat on the bed to remove his boots. "She mispronounced 'knight' and refused to accept Pylos's correction."

Arya laughed at that. "Sounds like her."

Gendry seemed to get along with Mya best, but was also fond of his cousin Shireen and half-brother Edric. He was four-and-ten, and idolized his father, though they hadn't even met. One night at dinner, he asked Arya about Robert.

She hadn't known what to do. She didn't want to shatter his image of the great warrior Robert Baratheon. He hadn't been that man in a long time, if he ever even was.

"My father loved him like a brother," was what fell from her lips. And then she went on to retell some exaggerated war story she overheard in Winterfell. One that played the old king in a good light.

Gendry's grateful glance had assured her she had done the right thing. He had whispered softly in her ear, voice low and only to be heard by her, "Thank you."

"Did you get another letter from Jon?" He noted the paper in hands.

"Oh." Arya had forgotten. She had held it too tight, and now it was wrinkled. She hadn't meant to do that. "Yes." After she tried to straighten it out, she set it on the cushion so as not do further damage.

"He didn't... mention me, did he?" Arya caught the slight gulp.

What could Jon have said to scar him so? "No. He barely mentioned anything at all."

_He's keeping something from me_, Arya realized. _And not just the Others…_

* * *

Screaming. That was what woke her.

A man howling in pain, reminiscent of all the nameless faces in Harrenhal. It was so faint, not near loud enough to disturb Gendry's sleep. But it still managed to echo all the way into her chambers and to her ears.

Was she hearing ghosts? The thought occurred to her as she slipped silently out of bed and out the door.

Arya padded barefoot down the empty halls, dressed in a woolen robe that couldn't keep the chill out.

Her heart raced and thumped loudly in her ears as she followed the screams of a man she knew to be near death.

She was afraid. But there was no reason to be.

She had an army. She had killed. She watched the life fade out of all their eyes and harbored no guilt. She was a wolf.

Whoever this is should fear me, she told herself. Not the other way around.

Arya still wished Nymeria was with her. But her direwolf ran off into the little woodlands of Dragonstone with Summer and Shaggydog a few days past, and had yet to return.

The dying man led her outside. From the castle, she spotted a bright fire on the beach.

She broke into a run, the cold stone pathway beneath her feet not fazing her in the least.

Arya began to make out figures in the not-so-far off distance. It grew warmer as she neared the bonfire, and the robe felt uncomfortable against her now sticky skin.

Just as she approached, the screams stopped.

She was too late. A charring body lay unmoving in the dancing flames. The scent of burnt flesh assaulted her nose, and Arya felt sick. But she pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for that later.

The Red Woman stood beside her fire, looking more a god than the gods themselves. She seemed drunk on it all. The flames devouring the once screaming man, the shackled prisoners in the sand, cowering in fear and begging for mercy, the power of their lives in her hands…

"What is this?" Her voice shook just as much as her hands. When she didn't get an answer, she asked more forcefully, "What are you doing? Tell me!"

"I give them to the fires," her dazed and dreamy voice told her, "and the fires give me strength."

"Please," one of the soon-to-be sacrifices called to Arya in the sand. "Please, please, please…" He repeated it over and over again.

Arya trembled as she looked at him, and then the rest. All five of them were grown men, tall or well-built… and yet they seemed so small. Helpless. "Melisandre, this has to stop."

"It is us or them. This is how we will win at Blackwater. This is how I can control the wildfire. This is how you protect your eighteen thousand and counting."

"No," she shook her head fervently. "We can't _burn _them alive—"

"Death by fire is the purest death."

"Murder is murder," Arya insisted vehemently. "And what does Stannis think of this? Does he know?"

"Our king understands this must be done."

Arya faltered. Father would be so ashamed, she thought. I have allied myself with the murderers of innocents… "I'll send my men home—"

Melisandre cut off her threat. "Why are you so upset? I thought you would be pleased."

"_Pleased?_" she repeated, aghast. "You are burning innocents—"

"These are not innocents. These are _Freys_."

She was taken aback. "Freys?" Her gaze drifted away from the red priestess and to the five prisoners caked in sand. _Freys.  
_  
"Well, that one is a Bolton." She motioned to the one that had been pleading Arya for help. "But he's just as guilty as the rest. They all had a part in the crimes done to your family at the Twins."

Melisandre pulled the Bolton to his feet and led him to the fire. "No, please. I'll do what you want, I will. I swear, just tell me… tell me what you want..."

Arya was frozen in place. She did not move to stop it. He could have slit my mother's throat, was what ran through her head. He could have been one of the ones who threw her body in the river. He could have been the one to sew Greywind's head onto Robb's shoulders…

She blinked. "Stop! Stop." Melisandre paused at her words, just in time before pushing him into the fire.

"Tell me true." Arya stepped forwards to the man. "Were you at the Red Wedding?" When he didn't answer, "Were you part of the slaughter?" Still no reply. "Did you know it was going to happen?"

She slapped him. "Did you kill my brother?" Her vision was blurred with tears as she shook his shoulders. "Did you watch my mother die?" Arya didn't recognize her own voice, crazed and so full of desperation. "Did you listen to her beg for her son's life? Did you jeer and laugh with your friends whilst throwing her in the river?" She pushed him, too near the flames for his comfort. "Tell me what you did!"

"I'm sorry." He was crying. "I'm so sorry…"

There was her answer. She took a step back. "I know you have a taste for vengeance, Arya Stark." Melisandre's voice sounded so far away. "Do you want to watch him burn?"

"Yes."


	22. Justice

The walk back to her chambers was a shameful one.

Arya had watched all five burn. She stood there with the sand between her toes, the heat warming her blood, and watched unblinkingly through the smoke.

She watched them beg. She watched them fall to their knees. She watched the fire consume them. She watched until the flames went out and there was nothing left but ash.

This wasn't supposed to happen. That had not been _honorable._ That had not been justice.

Justice was swift. It was clean and quick.

She had killed before, usually because it was her or them. And sometimes it had been justice, like with the Tickler. Though, revenge had been what fueled her. She had wanted him to die.

But these five. She hadn't just wanted them to die. She wanted them to _suffer_.

She wanted their screams, and she got them.

Arya wasn't sure if she even enjoyed it at the time, but she certainly did not now.

She crawled into bed, and welcomed the safety of the blankets. It was stupid, she was well aware. How could a blanket protect her?

Gendry stirred as she settled in. He rolled closer to her. "Where'd you go?"

Would he smell the smoke in her hair? Would he feel the fire's heat still radiating off her skin? Would he hear her heart that raced so loud? Would he know what she had done?

"I heard something. It was nothing." The lie was bitter on her tongue, but it was better than him knowing. Judging. "Go back to sleep."

"You're shaking," he observed. "Are you cold?"

_No, I can still feel the fire_. She nodded and he pulled the covers higher over them both.

He fell back asleep, and Arya could still hear their screams.

* * *

She took a bath.

Arya sat in one of the tubs in Dragonstone's empty bathhouse, the water hot with steam rising all above her. It was cleansing.

But not enough, she thought to herself.

No amount of soap or scrubbing could erase the dirt on her mind. Nothing could erase last night.

Gendry knew something was wrong. He seemed to sense it as soon as light peeked through the curtains and he saw her face. He only got out one question before she stumbled out of the room, mumbling something about a bath.

She was supposed to visit the camp today. Just walk through, be encouraging, share wine with the higher lords and ladies, accept their sympathies for her losses, and thank them for their offers to bring her Joffrey's head…

But Melisandre would be there, and that scared her.

So would the excited hopeful knight Edric and his sister Mya, who happened to want Gendry to come along. If she knew her brother, Rickon would be nagging Bran to take him down this very moment…

She couldn't do it. She couldn't face them, nor their judgment. They would see the shame plain on her face the very moment they set eyes on her. They would know.

And she couldn't handle that.

* * *

Arya was in the stables, adjusting the saddle atop the horse she intended to borrow for a ride. She just needed to… get away.

Then Gendry came strolling through, most likely looking for her, and on impulse she ducked behind the stall door. She held her breath and prayed he had not seen. Just walk away, she pleaded silently.

He did not listen. "Are you hiding?"

More like running. She looked up at his voice. He had approached the stall, looking down at her with curious eyes and an amused raised eyebrow. "I… no," she denied as she stood back up.

"Good," he said, despite the fact that it was plain he did not believe her, "because Lady Melisandre is looking for you."

Panic seized her. "Why?" Did she tell him about last night?

"You're supposed to visit the camps today, remember? You're late."

"Oh." Arya turned away from Gendry and back to the chestnut mare, and moved the reins over her shoulders. "I… um, don't want to go to that. Not today." I will go on a day that Melisandre does not, she told herself as she mounted the horse.

"You're just not going to go?" There was a hint of concern beneath his puzzlement, and Arya knew that was not good. She had to leave before he bombarded her with his questioning. "Where are you going?" he asked as she brushed past him.

"For a ride." And with that, she galloped through stable doors, forcing one of the staff to narrowly jump out of the way to avoid a trampling.

He followed her. She should have known he would.

Arya was on the beach when he finally caught up. It was the exact spot where she had burned the five men. The bonfire was still there, though the flames dead and gone. But a few scorched logs remained, and so did the ash and coal.

"Arya!" he tried calling her name from his horse for the umpteenth time, and then followed it with, "Just tell me what's going on!"

That was when she pulled the mare to a halt, and spun around to face him. "I killed someone last night, okay?" she shouted to him. "More than one someone!" She jumped down from her horse and stood by the barren fire. "Right here, Gendry! The Red Woman pushed five people into her flames and asked me if I wanted to watch them burn. And I told her yes."

She stared at the ash. Freys, she reminded herself. Boltons. It did not make her feel better.

Gendry was approaching her, she could hear his footsteps. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Okay."

"Okay?" she echoed, bewildered. "I tell you I burned five people alive last night, and you say _okay_?"

"Yes," was his reply, "because everything… everything is going to be okay." He rubbed her shoulder in an effort to comfort her, and moved closer with a worried sigh.

They stood there silently for a moment, just staring at the dead fire.

"They deserved to die," she muttered defensively. "They were at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons."

"I didn't doubt that you had reason."

"I shouldn't have done it that way, though," she continued. "I should have hung them, or taken off their heads. That's what my father would have done."

"It's all the same in the end."

"Yeah."

* * *

Above the camp, their banners whipped together in the high winds, the grey direwolf beside the stag and fiery heart. She had decided to follow through with her duties, albeit two hours late.

Arya wound through the tents, waved when addressed, politely smiled whilst engaged in bland conversation, and accepted the gifts shoved her way.

Among them was a casket of Arbor gold from the Glovers. A very amused Lord Wull presented her with a mountain lion pelt, which was surprisingly soft. But her favorite gift was the dagger given to her by Lady Maege Mormont and her daughter Alysane.

Melisandre was there, always in the corner of her eye, talking to some lord or other. But she never made to approach Arya. And for that, she was grateful.

Gendry came with her, but went off with Mya and Edric, who had apparently found a party of sorts in one of the tents, where ale was flowing, music playing, and probably whores beckoning.

But she tried not to think about the whores. _Only you, _he had told her once.

She felt a tiny bit abandoned, but she told him to go, so that was her own fault.

Bran had been dragged out by Rickon, as expected. Her bannermen were very excited and surprised by that, and at first she had been confused of why. But then, she remembered.

What surprised _her_ was that Jojen and Meera had joined her brothers on their outing.

When Bran and Rickon went off to watch some knights spar, Arya thought perhaps this was her chance to bring up their father. Before she could even mention it to them, Jojen beat her to it.

"Our father will come when he sees fit," he told her. "A letter from us will not change that."

And then he just walked away, Meera following at his heels, leaving Arya alone to wonder how he knew what she had been about to ask.

* * *

It was dark out by the time Arya lets the sound of laughter and music and clinking glasses guide her to a large tent situated near the sea and a blazing fire.

As she approached, two figures rushed out of the tent flap. One could only be tall enough to be Hodor, and the boy in his arms was no doubt her brother.

Bran retched into the grass, just before Hodor could gently set him down onto the ground. "Hodor?" he asked with concern. Meera Reed emerged from the tent, followed by Gendry.

"You alright?" she heard him ask, whilst she hastily made for them.

Arya knelt beside the Reed girl, who had gotten on her knees in the muddy dirt to put a hand on her brother's back. He smelled of whiskey. "Are you drunk?"  
She turned her accusing gaze to Gendry. "Did you get my little brother _drunk_?"

He gave her a guilty look. "It was Mya." She stood abruptly to smack him across the shoulder. "Oww," he called out in protest. "That hurt."

"Good. It was meant to."

"I'm sorry, okay? She gave him a little bit of whiskey. I didn't know it was going to result in this." He gestured to her brother sprawled out on the grass, upheaving his previous meal.

"It's not their fault," Bran managed to get out. "I asked if I could have some." He struggled to get up on his elbows. "Can Hodor take me up to bed now?" He sounded exhausted.

She nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll be okay," he told her as Hodor gathered him up in his arms. "You don't have to—"

Meera spoke up, "I'll go with him."

Bran blushed. Odd. Did he like this girl as more than a friend? And what about her? She obviously cared about him in _some _way. Perhaps it was a sisterly affection, she had over three years on him.

"Okay. Goodnight then." When they began their walk back to the castle, she called out, "Have some water before you go to sleep!"

"I'll make sure he does!" Meera called back.

They disappeared into the darkness, and Gendry tried to talk to her. "Arya—"

She wasn't interested in the rest, and so she brushed past him to enter the tent.

The music grew louder as she pushed through the flap. Everyone was drunk and rowdy, half-dressed women were dancing with the knights. She spotted Edric, unsteady on his feet, stealing kisses with one of them in the back corner. Arya did not let her mind wander to Gendry. _Only you. _

Mya occupied a velvety sofa, her legs curled up underneath her, and a half-empty bottle of brown liqueur in hand. Arya made over to her, and sat down with a huff. "Is your brother alright?"

"Yes," Arya bit out. "In the future, could you please refrain from getting him drunk?"

"Oh come on, he needed have a bit of fun."

He had lost his parents, his oldest brother, and his legs. And also continued to be estranged from one of his sisters…. "I guess," she granted with a reluctant nod. "But he's still only thirteen. Too young for whiskey."

If they had been at Winterfell, he would not have been allowed more than a cup or two of wine at dinner. Arya was doubtful _she _would be allowed something so strong, and she was six-and-ten. But she wasn't one to play by the rules.

She grabbed the bottle out of Mya's hands and took a swig. Her throat burned and a warmth was spread throughout her chest. She must have made a face at the bitter taste, because Mya laughed.

"And I reckon you aren't?" she chuckled. "How old are you, anyway? Fourteen?"

"Oi! Watch it," she giggled, "I'm a _queen_."

Gendry joined them then, and Arya stifled her laughter and sent him a glare his way when he plopped down beside her.

When he saw, he rolled his eyes, more in amusement than annoyance. "I'm sorry I let Mya get your little brother drunk." His apology was tainted with a teasing tone.

She shook her head at him with narrowed eyes. "Shut up, you big stupid..." She was coming up blank with applicable insults. "Stupid... You're just stupid."

Mya was laughing again. And then so was Gendry. And then she was, too.

* * *

Arya returned from the party with Gendry, feeling light and giggly. She wasn't properly drunk, but her body seemed to have a pleasant hum to it.

She had laughed dryly when she stumbled through her chamber doors and spotted the fine fabrics lain across the bed, waiting for her. "Ah, my rewards for ritual sacrifice."

She made for them, and felt the soft velvets of dark reds and sparkling grey, thicker fabrics of Tully blue, and then more Stark grey with varying detailing, from embroidery to metalwork to beading.

"More dresses?" Gendry asked, amused whilst he began to undress for bed.

She nodded in affirmation. This was not the first time Melisandre had given her dresses. Her usual attire of tunic and breeches had been deemed inappropriate once her sworn swords began to appear. And so, the Red Woman bestowed her with tens and tens of dresses, finer than anything Arya had ever dared don.

Sansa would admire their expense and value, but not much else. The colors were dark, something her sister would find drab and gloomy. There was no silk or lace, only velvet and tougher materials.

They were fit for a queen, and that was the part Arya had to play.

But she was not in need of more clothing. She had enough dresses for a lifetime, a very long and uncomfortable lifetime.

Was Melisandre really thanking her for last night with overly lavish garb?

As Arya lifted one up to inspect, something fell and fluttered to the floor. Parchment.

No, a note.

She bent to pick it up. Arya read the scribbled out words with a frown.

_Come tonight, after midnight. Same place.  
_  
"Are you going to go?"

Gendry had moved behind her, and apparently could read the note well enough over her shoulder to grasp the message. She would have smiled if she had not just been requested to attend another sacrificial burning.

_No._ "Would you still love me if I did?"

"Yes."

Arya turned to face him, crumpling the note in her fist. She lifted a hand to his head, her thumb stroked his cheek. "So would I."

She watched her fingers drag down to trace his jaw and then his lips. Her own unconsciously part, in anticipation.

When she looked back up, she found his gaze fixed on her. His eyes shone with something between memorization and curiosity.

He had yet to touch her, and she finally felt his hand on her waist. They already were close, but he somehow managed to get even closer.

Gendry moved her gently onto the bed, and followed on top of her. His lips hovered momentarily over hers before they brushed together.

Her hand dangled over the side of the bed, and the note fell to floor, forgotten.

* * *

The date was set.

In a week's time, the Stark and Baratheon forces would sail for King's Landing.


	23. Promises

"Arya?"

Bran kept a finger in his book to hold his place as he closed it shut, turning his attention to her. Arya had been outright staring at him in the library for a good ten minutes now, and no doubt he had felt her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Is there a reason you're giving me that look?"

"What look?"

"That look," he nodded to her. "Nostalgic. Sad." He gave her a teasing smile. "I think you might cry, honestly."

"I am _not_." She crossed her arms defensively, and Bran's smile widened in amusement. "I just…" How could she tell him?

Bran sighed. "You're leaving with them tomorrow, aren't you?" His smile grew sad. "You're going to fight?"

Arya couldn't deny this. "Is this goodbye then?"

He sounded so much like a child then. As of late, he spoke with a newfound sense of command and wisdom. _A lord's voice. _But now…

"It's not forever, Bran." She took his hand. "I'm going to come back." Was she lying through her teeth? She remembered Jon making similar vows before they went separate ways. "And with Sansa."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Arya." His voice was not angry, but gentle yet somewhat distant. "Robb… he made the same one."

She felt her chest tighten. _Robb. _"I'll be well protected. I'll have guards, and I'm not going to fight unless I have to. I just have to get Sansa… If we lose, I still intend to get her out of King's Landing."

"I… I understand why you have to go. But that doesn't mean I want you to."

For a moment, Arya thought her brother was going to cry, but then he swallowed and tried to compose himself. _My brave Bran._ "I want to see you off in the morning."

Arya smiled. "Hodor will take you down to the docks, then."

Bran returned her smile weakly. "Arya… what about Rickon?"

"I was going to say goodbye tonight."

"Presumably without telling him that it's goodbye?"

She nodded, feeling a little guilty. "He's going to have a fit. I-I can't..."

"Osha and I will take care of him… He'll understand. Eventually.

Bran went back to his reading, and Arya stayed with him until he struggled to keep his eyes open and had to retire for bed. He was reluctant to leave her, but they both knew the night could not last forever.

Before Hodor carried him to chambers, Arya stopped him. "If you write to Jon… Don't tell him that I've gone with them. That I've gone to fight." She distinctly remembered promising him that she would _not _be involved in the fighting.

Bran nodded, and Arya continued. "O-or Gendry." She bit her lip. "Don't tell Gendry."

* * *

"He's letting him fight!"

It was only an hour later that Gendry burst into their chambers, making absolutely no sense at all.

Arya looked up from another one of Jon's vague letters with furrowed brows. "Who?"

"Stannis." The name was a growl through his teeth. He was positively seething.

"Well, he's the _king. _Of course, he's going to fight—"

"No. _Edric _is the one fighting. He's too young!" Gendry lumbered over to the bed to sit, and ran his tugging fingers through his hair, like he always did when stressed or nervous. "He's going to get himself killed, Arya. And his own uncle is allowing it."

_Oh. _She frowned from the window seat, unsure of how to fix this.

She doubted that she could convince Stannis to forbid Edric from fighting. Her only thought was to threaten the recall of her northmen, but it was too late for that. They set sail for King's Landing on the morrow.

Edric was four-and-ten, and eager for battle, action, and glory. The boy had never seen real war, had never fought with pointed swords or had his life truly at stake. It would not be as glamorized as the ideas he had running through his head.

Convincing Edric not to fight was as likely as convincing Stannis.

The truth was that boys younger than him were pushed onto the battlefield every day, though usually as squires. But if she was in Gendry's place, and that was her brother…

"You've seen him in the practice yard, right?" She gnawed on her bottom lip. "Is he any good?"

"Better than me," he conceded with a nod. "But not as good as you. Or any of the trained and seasoned knights that will be on battlefield… He's never seen war before. He's never seen bloodshed like we have. He doesn't know what it's like to fight for your life. He's always been safe, nestled behind castle walls."

"What does Mya say?"

"Mya had a lot to say," he laughed drily. "She yelled at him for a good hour, and now she's not speaking to him at all."

Arya tried to stay positive, for his sake. "She still might get through to him."

He scoffed. "By the morning?"

She sighed, and went to join him on the bed. "Edric is Stannis's blood. His men will be looking out for him." _I _will be looking out for him, she promised him silently.

She sealed it with a kiss. One hand reached up to his face, the other curled into the soft, worn fabric of his shirt. Her lips were feather light against his. _I promise. I promise._

When she pulled back, she was met with his trusting, unsuspecting eyes. Tomorrow they would be filled with betrayal. Hurt. Anger.

She wanted to cry. Scream in frustration. Tear out her hair. But she did none of those things, because then he would know. _And he cannot know.  
_  
Instead, she slanted her lips over his once more. Arya was eager, pushing her tongue through his open and enthusiastic mouth. He pulled her by the waist onto his lap, and her fingers thread into his hair.

_This could be the last time. This could be the last time. This could be the last time.  
_  
It was all she could think as he kissed her neck, unlaced her dress with practiced fingers, murmured her name low in her ear, let his hands explore every inch of exposed skin…

She ground against him in frustration, a groan fell from his lips and into her mouth. Her impatient hands tugged his shirt over his head, and then moved to wander down his shoulders and back, his chest and stomach. She wanted commit every muscle, every contour and line to memory. _This could be the last time._

His hands pushed away her dress and moved to her breasts. He peppered tender kisses along the skin there, his tongue flicked over one nipple and his thumb brushed against the other.

She arched her back at the touch. His fingers danced across her thigh, and then between her parted legs. She gasped as two slipped inside her, and writhed against him.  
_  
_Her hands gripped his shoulders, hard enough that her fingertips might leave behind little bruises. He dipped down to kiss her collarbone, and his thumb darted to circle the bundle of nerves just there.

"Gendry…" Her body trembled. "I need..."

His lips trailed along her jaw to her ear. "What do you need?" His voice was low and breathy.

She pressed him down onto the bed, and pushed his fingers away. Her own fumbled with his breeches, and then slowly lowered herself down onto him. She fought the instinct to close her eyes; she didn't want to miss a moment of this.

He seemed to have the same idea, watching her with intent eyes. _But he doesn't know that this could be the last time_…

She rocked her hips, in a now more practiced and steady rhythm. Both of their breathing had grown labored. She could already feel herself nearing the edge. She didn't want it to be over.

Gendry's hands wandered from her thighs to her hips, and flipped them over with a moan. She came apart the third time he moved inside her, her legs wrapped around him and a cry falling from her lips.

He followed with one more thrust. "Arya…" He always said her name.

He pressed his lips lazily up her neck, his eyes heavy, and kissed her lips. She felt her eyes well with tears, and she hoped it was dark enough that he would not see. "I love you." It was only a whisper.

He stroked her hair, and said it back. "I love you."

He pulled her with him when he turned to lay on his back. His fingers lightly stroked her arm as he drifted off to sleep. She rested her head on his chest, and listened to his soft, even breaths.

_The last time…_

* * *

It was a restless night for Arya. She could not recall if she even slept at all. When the first signs of dawn peek through her curtains, she crept carefully out of bed.

Her bare feet were met with soft Myrish carpet as she tiptoed over to the dresser. _Quiet as a shadow..._

She had already packed for her journey. The satchel hidden in the bottom drawer, buried beneath layers and layers of dresses Melisandre had given her. Arya laced one up, and then slung the bag over her shoulder. She then made to grab the sword that lay atop the dresser.

"You were just going to leave then?"

Arya froze at Gendry's words. Her eyes closed and she bit back a sigh. _Fuck.  
_  
She turned on her heels, prepared to beg for him to understand. "I'm sorry—"

"Without a word." He had sat up in the bed with a dry smile."You were just going to sail off to King's Landing. Off to war. And leave me here to wonder whether you're alive or dead." He laughed, at her or himself, she didn't know. "I should have known."

"I thought it would be… easier—"

"Because how can he come if he doesn't know I'm leaving?" He got out of bed then, and went to dress. "I get it, Arya. I really do. But now I know, and now I'm coming."

_No. _"I need someone to stay with Bran and Rickon. Someone I trust. If things go… wrong, then I need someone to get them off of Dragonstone and somewhere safe."

"Osha will take care of them." He tugged on his breeches. "Or Mya or Meera… even Maester Pylos. Is he going with Stannis?"

She ignored his question. "Gendry, _please_. We… we might not come back."

He didn't listen to her, instead bustling about the room to gather what belongings he wished to take with him. Her eyes watered, feeling helpless and unsure of what to do.

"I don't want you to die_._"

Her whispered words got his attention. He turned to face her, his eyes as somber as his voice. "Then don't go."

Gods, she wished she could. "I have to save my sister."

"Then that's what we'll do. Together. Because I'm with you. _Always. _To the end."

_To the end. "_To death," she said, because that was his true meaning. She uttered those two little words like they were the bane of her very existence.

"Yes."

"There's no stopping you, is there?"

"No."_  
_

* * *

They were in the little fishing village that lay outside the castle walls, not overpopulated in the least. No children squawked and splashed in the shallow waters of the bay, like she remembered in King's Landing. Merchants did not call out to prospective buyers as they passed. The streets were quiet and its few people were reserved.

Arya wondered if it had always been that way, or if it was the war that caused this lack of populace and spirit.

An oarsman took her overly stuffed and bloated satchel to take aboard for her. Her gaze flickered away from the retreating man and towards the wooded area near the docks. _Nymeria.  
_  
Her direwolf was still running through the woods with her pack brothers. Hunting, stalking, _living_. Arya knew she felt free.

But she had hoped she would have returned by now. Before her departure. She would have liked her company and protection for the upcoming battle.

"She is fine, Arya." It was Bran who spoke, set on a barrel that Hodor had fashioned as a makeshift chair.

"I know." _I dream of her. _"I just wish she would have gotten back in time." She sighed and tore her eyes away from the swaying and whispering trees. _The sea breeze is strong_, Arya thought. _That can be disastrous, or it can work in our favor._

Arya knelt in front of Bran, the wooden dock hard against her knees, even through the padding her dress offered. She might have torn it, and was surely dirtying it. Would Melisandre care?

Either way, it was certainly not the most queenliest of gestures. And not one she should be making under so many eyes. Northmen, King's and Queen's men…

She didn't care. She would say goodbye to her brother as she pleased. "You will take care of her for me? When she returns."

Bran was amused. "I think Nymeria can take care of herself."  
_  
_"Still. Keep her out of trouble."

He nodded, and then smiled. "And who's going to keep you out of trouble?"

_Gendry. He will try, no doubt. _"Haven't you learned by now that no one can keep me out of trouble, brother?"

She meant to keep the teasing and light tone about them, but Bran's smile twisted into something sad and older beyond his years. "Father could. Sometimes."

She took his hand. "Aye. Sometimes."

Their moment was interrupted by a King's man, further down the docks, having just climbed out of the ship. "My lady, His Grace begs you come aboard!"

She doubted those were his exact words. Thrice, Arya had been told to get on. And thrice, she told them she was not done with her farewells, Gendry as her most recent envoy. _His Grace _was sure to be growing impatient with her.

"You probably shouldn't keep them waiting any longer."

"I guess not." She got to her feet with a heavy heart and welling tears that threatened to fall. When she moved to drop his hand, he held on.

"Come back, Arya. Come back with Sansa." He blinked back tears. "Promise me you will, please. I know I said…" He bowed his head, and his voice broke with a sob. "But promise me, Arya. Please."

_I need to hear it, _were his silent words. She brought a hand to his hair, and pet with soothing strokes.

"I promise, Bran," she vowed. "I promise."

She kissed his brow, closing her eyes. _Goodbye.  
_  
And then she turned away, letting her fingers slip away from his. She left him there on the barrel with Hodor and walked down the dock. She wiped away the tears that she had been unaware were falling, and prayed no one had seen.

She approached the large ship, perhaps the largest of the fifty that belonged to Ser Davos's pirate friend.

This particular one would host Stannis and his true queen Melisandre, the Onion Knight, possibly Edric Storm, a handful of lords from the north, the she-bears of House Mormont, and forty or so knights. And her and Gendry, of course.

The man that Stannis sent to obtain her grumbled as she came near, but then turned sympathetic when he saw her face. "Let me help you up, my lady."

She took the hand he offered, and kept her eyes downcast. _Don't let them see._

* * *

She felt sick.

Arya wasn't sure if it was the rock and sway of the waves, or the prospect of never seeing her littlest brothers again...

It was the first night aboard the great warship, and they had not sailed two hours before celebrations commenced.

Food had been freshly prepared and presented on long buffet tables, perhaps one their last meals in weeks that would not include _salted _in the title. Caskets of wine and rum and beer were opened, and the alcohol flowed freely. Around her, her allies of both north and south sat side-by-side, drinking and feasting to their hearts' content.

Arya was not in such a festive mood. She sat sullen and silent, staring at her untouched goblet that was filled to the brim with spiced rum. Bran's pleas still echoed through her head. _Come back, Arya.  
_  
It wasn't long that she was bent over the railing, heaving until there was no longer anything left in her stomach. The boat quieted around her. Arya heard a woodharp's next note fall flat.

Gendry was there first. "You alright?"

_No. _She was unsteady on her feet, and Gendry's hands were on her shoulders to keep her balanced. Her own hand made for her hair, and she was pleased to discover that it remained unsoiled as she brushed it back.

Melisandre came to her next. _Not her. _"Arya, come sit down."

She put an arm through hers, and with Gendry's help, they led her back to the table. The Red Woman's skin was warm against hers. _Come back with Sansa... promise me, Arya.  
_  
Arya had managed to avoid the priestess on Dragonstone. There had been leagues of castle ground to escape to… But now, there was no escape but the sea.

The king himself begrudgingly asked her if she was okay. Hugo Wull, the chief of his mountain clan, laughed. "Our queen just had too much to drink. A tiny queen, she is. A cup of that rum would do her in." Others joined his laughter, and the festivities resumed once more.

She was about to say that she hadn't so much as touched her cup, but decided against it. Let them think her drunk.

"Are you alright?" Stannis dutifully asked again, through his teeth. He was still annoyed with her for making him wait to set sail that morning, wasn't he?

"Should we call for Maester Pylos?" It was Melisandre this time, looking much more genuine with her concern. She stroked her hair in a way that reminded Arya of her mother. If she closed her eyes, it could be her… _Have you forgotten she burns people alive as a hobby?_

"I'm fine, I just… got a little seasick." Her throat still burned, and so she reluctantly admitted, "Some water would be okay."  
_  
_Melisandre signaled for a servant. "You shall have it."

Stannis went to rejoin the feast, but she stayed and so did Gendry. The Red Woman made her finish the glass, and reminded her to drink slowly. Arya rolled her eyes more than once.

"You used to like the sea."

She turned to Gendry at his voice. She had been aware of his concerned and borderline suspicious eyes glued on her for a while now, but had chosen to ignore it. "Are you forgetting the storm we got caught up in? The one where we almost _died_?"

"You liked it afterwards, too. Or at least you never got sick."

"Well, maybe I'm drunk."

"You're not drunk."

"I might be."

"I've seen you drunk. You're not drunk."

She harrumphed, and went to toss back the rest of the glass. "_Slow,"_ the Red Woman told her again.

Arya sighed, but complied nevertheless. She fought the impulse to put her head in her hands and just _cry. _She felt exhausted. Had she even slept last night?

_Come back, Arya. Promise me you will.  
_  
"Gendry, would you escort our young queen to her cabin? She needs rest."

Arya was tired, but she did not appreciate decisions being made for her like this. "I don't—" So tired, though. "I'm not in need of an escort, thank you." Her chair screeched against the deck as she stood. "I can find my cabin fine on my own."

She felt lightheaded at the rushed movement, and she wobbled on her feet. Gendry steadied her, and she did not fight him when he began to lead her to her cabin.

She leaned heavily on him for support, her head on his upper arm. "Do you have a cabin of your own?"

"I'm not sure." His brow furrowed. "If I do, I won't be staying in it."

That almost made her smile. _Come back, Arya.  
_  
She hadn't been to her cabin yet, but she knew it by her luggage sitting outside the door. She was too tired to explore her new temporary living space. There would be time later.

Gendry lay her down onto the bed, and she immediately curled up on her side, burrowing her head in the fluffy pillows. He tugged off her boots, and then pulled the covers up and over her shoulders.

She felt the dip into the mattress as he lay behind her. His chest was to her back, and an arm moved around her. He put a hesitant hand over hers, the one pulled close to her chest.

"Arya… I know you're not fine."

She was ready to protest, but he predicted as much. "Don't. Don't say anything. Just… just know that it's okay. It doesn't make you weak."

"It does," she whispered.

"No, Arya. You're the strongest person I know."

Her breath hitched, and tears swell in her eyes. _Promise me, Arya. _"Don't stop talking. Please, Gendry."

He paused briefly. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything_."  
_  
And so he talked, and soon she could no longer hear Bran's pleading voice.

He told her of his life in King's Landing. The alehouse his mother worked, the places he would play as a child, the mystery of who paid his apprentice fee, the first time he got drunk and had his first kiss… That particular story was not her favorite.

Other stories made her want to laugh, and others saddened her, because they saddened him.

"It will be strange to be back."

_Yes, it will. _ She fell asleep wondering if she could burn the great statue of Baelor the Blessed to the ground. Melisandre certainly wouldn't stop her.


	24. Awaits

She had decided. Arya would not dwell on her brothers, or Gendry's safety, or how she was responsible for twenty-thousand other lives. It would destroy her, and how could she rescue Sansa if she was destroyed?

Morning had come, and Arya rose restful and mind at ease. She had been bestowed with a blissful, dreamless slumber, for the first time in… _too long.  
_  
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the soft light that streamed through the little porthole above her bed. It was still early, her cabin illuminating a faint blue tone. She wouldn't mind staying in bed a bit longer, but the prospect of food drew her out.

Gendry's sleep remained undisturbed as she padded barefoot about the room. Her cabin was neither particularly spacious nor cramped, but instead of a befitting size. It was cozy and accommodating enough, with a bed for sleeping, a dresser to keep her clothes in, and a rug so as not to freeze her toes off.

Arya was tired of dresses. They were like a little personal hell, contrived just for her, that kept her mobility constricted and her back uncomfortably straight. And so, she donned breeches instead.

After lacing up her boots, she slipped silently out the door. She was not sure where the kitchens were located on the enormous ship, so she resolved to head up on deck to ask someone.

The halls were quiet, and she concluded that most everyone was still asleep. She ascended the few steps that led to the deck, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.

Sea air assaulted her nose, and the breeze cool against her skin. Her hair blew back gently, and a chill was sent down her spine. It was refreshing, though she wished she had a cloak.

There was not a crewmember in sight, and so she started walking. She was bound to come across someone sometime.

The someone she came across was not the someone she would have preferred. _Melisandre._

She sat alone at a table that had yet to be put away since the feast, though the food and tableware had been cleared off. Fresh plates had been set out, with an assortment of fruit and a loaf of bread. A carafe filled with orange juice, and Arya thought she spotted eggs. _A lot of food for one, and she doesn't seem to have touched it all…  
_  
She sucked in a breath as the priestess's eyes drifted in her direction, and pressed her back against the wall, and hoped she remained unseen.

"Are you afraid, Arya?" _Dammit. _"There's no need, Salladhor Saan will not allow me a fire on his precious ship. Not one near big enough for sacrifice, anyway."

She stepped away from the wall. "I'm not afraid," she told her, because she felt obligated to.

The Red Woman smiled. "Come join me, then."

Arya was too stubborn to back down. She made for the table, and pulled out the chair across from Melisandre. The scent of warm, fresh bread tempted her as soon as she sat down. _Might as well eat, _she thought whilst tearing off a piece.

"You never came that night."

Arya looked up at that rather random remark. She raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe you overestimated my _taste for vengeance_, as you once put it."

"No," she said with an analyzing tilt of the head, "I think I underestimated your Stark honor."

Her eyes fell downcast. "Maybe."

"Are you feeling better?"  
_  
_"Yes," Arya answered coolly, whilst picking a strawberry from the platter of fruit. When she took a bite, it was more sour than sweet. It reminded her that summer was waning. How much of Winterfell's food supply remained? Their stocks used to never dwindle below what was necessary for a three year winter. But that was before they left. Before ironmen and before Boltons...

"Arya," Melisandre started, hesitant and unsure. "People are… talking."

Her cautious eyes flickered up. "About what?"

"You. And Gendry." Her shoulders were tense and her words careful, as if she expected Arya to explode at any moment. "His Grace wishes you were more… discreet."

"Well, it's none of his business, is it?" She clenched her jaw, and added reluctantly with a sigh. "I said that Gendry was my sworn protector…"

"… and no one believes it," Melisandre finished for her. "Traditionally, guardsmen don't share beds with those they are sworn to protect."

_They do when on the road_, she thought, _when you are likely to wake with a knife at your throat and someone riding off with your belongings… _"What does it matter what people say? It's true, anyway, and—"

"Some whisper that he's gotten you with his bastard," she told her casually, as if she was noting how nice the weather was that morning. "Is there any truth to that?"

"_NO,_" Arya all but screams. Once was not enough, she needed to say it again. "No," she repeated, though much quieter. "Wh—" She struggled to form coherent thoughts, let alone _sentences_. "Why, wha—"

"Yesterday—"

"Yesterday I was seasick! Sleep deprived, and… and…" _Depressed. _"Stressed."

"You're sure?"

"_Yes,_" she snapped. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and embarrassment replaced anger. "I drink moon tea." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. _This is just… stupid_, she thought. _So stupid. _Like _Arya Stark _would have a baby, in or out of wedlock.

"The rumors will fade, once it's obvious you're not getting any bigger—"

"I know that," she bit out. "And I don't care what they think—"

"Our King does. His intent is for you to marry—"

"_Our King_," she snorts, "is mad if he thinks I'm going to marry. He can have me at sword point up on the altar, and I still wouldn't say the words."

"I think you might."

* * *

The older lords were fond of her, because they were fond of her father. Some had fought with him, and some had fought with her brother.

Arya listened to tales of battle fever and glory, from both the rebellion and the War of the Five Kings. Their intent was to tell her how honorable and how great both Wardens of the North were, but they only succeeded in dredging up that empty hole in her heart.

She suppressed that feeling, of course, and put on a smile. Laughs echoed through the deck, and a flute whistled somewhere out of eyeshot. Arya ate what was given to her, and made a point not to get or even look ill. Whenever Gendry neared too close, or lingered with a touch too long, she was careful to put space between them.

It wasn't that she cared about the rumors, because she certainly did not care about the rumors, but why let them believe something that wasn't true?

Even so, the rumors did not put off any of her newfound pursuers. Lords and knights, young and old, seemed to have the same idea as Stannis. They wanted the heart of the north, her castle, an alliance with the great House Stark.

_Idiots, _she thought. _I'm not even the successor. Is the term "queen" just too tempting for you?  
_  
Donnel Flint retaught her cyvasse, but once she played her second move, the rules and strategies came back to her. Robb had been the one to enlighten her of the game, and other frequent opponents were Bran and Jon Snow.

Soon, she was taking his pieces one-by-one mercilessly, and then there weren't any left.

"Well, fuck me…" He did a double take of the board, and of his clear defeat. His eyes shot back to her when he realized coarse language, looking abashed.

"Sorry, my lady."

She laughed, and that seemed to put him at ease. "I just wasn't expecting it," he smiled tentatively, "you said you hadn't played in three years?"

Arya wasn't one to spare someone their pride. "I haven't."

He was not offended, he only grinned. 'I must be in need of some practice then. Another round?"

"Okay."

* * *

Gendry sat on the foot of the bed, unlacing his boots in silence. He was more quiet than usual, and had been throughout most of the night. Her fingers stopped fussing with the tricky clasp of her dress, and she focused on his reflection in the mirror.

She had noticed him glaring at Donnel Flint more than once that night, whilst they were playing cyvasse. Also when a Manderly casually called her beautiful (she had rolled her eyes), and when one of the Glover knights asked her dance… She had said no, though. Not that _dancing_ was a reason for him to get all huffy.

Arya maneuvered herself onto the bed, coming up behind him. Her arm draped over his shoulder and onto his chest. She kissed his neck, but he was still unresponsive by the time she reached his ear.

She caught his lobe between her lips, and then went on to trail down his jaw. "Kiss me."

"Ask Donnel Flint."

Arya paused at that, and then a laugh broke through her, because it was just so ridiculous. "I don't want Donnel Flint to kiss me, stupid. I want you to." She brought her lips back to his jaw to prove this.

"Yeah well, Donnel Flint definitely wants to kiss _you_. And so does Ser Mermaid, and—"

Her brows furrowed, as she murmured against his skin, "Who?"

"I don't know. A cousin to Lord Manderly, I think." His hand had subconsciously drifted to her thigh, and now his fingers were drawing soft patterns. She took that as a good sign. Though, he then went on to list more names and their several offenses…

Her patience was lost quick enough. "Gendry." She used the same tone she would a child. "We are on a bed. I am half-dressed, and kissing your neck. Why are we talking about Lord Robett Glover and one of his stupid knights?"

"Because Lord Robett Glover and one of his stupid knights want you in their bed."

"No, they want _Winterfell_."

"You're not the heir."

"Well—"

"They want to say they've fucked a queen, is that it?"

"No one will be able to say that. No one except you."

He paused, and some of the tension fled from his shoulders. His voice was small and unsure when he spoke, "Will you tell them that?"

Arya bit her lip. "I can't, Gendry. I need them to fight for me." _Understand, please. _"It's harmless. I play cyvasse with Donnel Flint, and force a smile whilst they trip over themselves to get in my good graces. But you know it will never be more than that."

"Stannis will want you to marry, though, won't he? For some alliance?"

"It doesn't matter. I won't go through with it. And Bran… he would have to consent." _Even to a king?  
_  
There was silence, and then all he said was, "Who?"

"I'm not sure." She had not thought to ask Melisandre, because it didn't matter _who_. It made no difference to her. "Probably someone he will want to make peace with. A Tyrell, maybe." Though, the only male Tyrell she knew of would probably be as unhappy with the marriage as she. "Or possibly, a Martell. Prince Doran has a son around our age, I think…"

Gendry eyes remained downcast as he rambled softly under his breath, so soft that she could only catch bits of his words, like "prince" and "suitable" and "Stark of Winterfell."

She wished he would just _look _at her. "Gendry?"

He did it now—look at her. His eyes were sullen and brooding, and she wondered if he didn't believe her. She wondered if he thought that she would really marry the Dornish boy or anyone else.

"Kiss me."

He did this time.

His lips were possessive, as were his hands. His teeth nipped, and his tongue soothed. Her legs were wrapped around him, and her heels dug deep.

She would sigh and gasp and moan, and he would kiss it all away. He made his own noises, low in her ear, as he moved inside her again and again.

He did not hold back. Arya liked that—when he let go, when he lost control. It was like he had completely lost himself in her. Like he was drowning in her.

"I love you," she told him, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Because she meant it.

"Say it again."

And so she did. It spilled from her lips over and over and over. "I love you. I love you. Love you, l-love y—" She broke off into something unintelligible, having been sent over the edge, and beckoning him to follow.

He collapsed on top of her, and Arya wasn't sure if she was capable of moving either. It didn't matter, though. Nothing mattered right now. Her eyes remained closed, but she felt his tender lips move to her bottom lip, and then along her jaw.

She whispered it one last time. "I love you."

"I know," he whispered back. "I do, too." He kissed her fully, and then moved to lay beside her. Arya rested her head on his shoulder, and silently watched her fingers draw patterns on his chest.

"Did you hear what Ser Davos said today?"

"We can't be more than a few days away from—" _War._ "From King's Landing."

"Yes." A pause, and he brushed back her hair. "Are you afraid?"

_Yes, but I am trying so hard not to be. _"Fear cuts deeper than swords, Gendry."

* * *

The next morning was spent in bed, filled with lazy kisses and soft conversation. Evidence of the previous night could be found all along her body. A lovebite on her collarbone, fingertip shaped bruises on her hip… Gendry felt bad about that one.

His fingers hovered over it lightly. "I'm sorry."

"No one will see it."

When he looked up, his face was guilt-stricken. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No." She was sore, though. But it was good. A good kind of sore.

He brought his lips to the little spattering of purple kissed skin, anyway. His tongue ran along her hip, and ended in kisses up her stomach. When he reached her neck, he paused.

"What?" She noticed his eyes were level with her pulse point. "Why are you staring at my neck?"

"It's nothing." He leaned to meet her lips, but she wriggled out from underneath him. "Arya, don't—"

He sighed as she slipped out of the bed and out of his grasp. She felt awkward moving about the room naked, so she took the fur throw with her. Suspicious, she made for the mirror.

Her own eyes stared back at her, quizzical. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was mangled in a way that would drive her mother mad, but none of that was her concern at the moment.

The red blotch on her throat was. _A high enough neckline does not exist, _she thought_._ Her hair could _maybe _conceal it, if the wind was kind.

Arya caught his reflection in the mirror, and spun around to face him. "You _marked _me."

"Oops."

Her glare hardened, and she sent the nearest object hurtling towards him. By happenstance, it was a candle. Lucky for him, an _unlit_ candle.

He laughed, and she stormed off. As she reached for the doorknob, he interrupted teasingly, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

At first, she did not understand. But then, she remembered. _Clothes.  
_  
She wore nothing but the fur, only remaining on her person because she clutched it so tightly with her fists about the waist and chest. It was not very efficient, sliding off her shoulders and barely covering her backside.

She growled as she grabbed the first article of clothing she came across, and stomped, this time successfully, out of the cabin. She didn't even bother with shoes.

Gendry's laughter could still be heard more than halfway down the hallway.

* * *

She didn't see him for the rest of the day, and not because she was avoiding him. Gendry was simply nowhere to be found.

Arya's anger was forgotten in a curiosity of just exactly where in seven hells he was.

She looked. In her cabin, in Gendry's abandoned one, the kitchens, both the Maester's and Edric Storm's whereabouts, and then her cabin again. That was where she was now.

She thought back to their pseudo-fight that morning, and could not help but wonder, _did I go too far? Did I push him over the edge?_

Sure, she had thrown something at him, but she had done that more times than she could remember. And besides, he had only laughed at her.

Was it about Donnel Flint and Lord Glover, Loras Tyrell, the Dornish prince, and all the others?

He had seemed okay, by that morning. Because that was what Gendry did—be okay.

Arya counted on that. She counted on him being there, when she hit him and yelled, stormed off and avoided him like the plague. When she burned innocents alive, and did stupid things like going to war and making alliances with grim kings and borderline witches. She counted on him understanding that she has to trick men into fighting for her, to let them believe she might share a marriage bed with them or simply warm theirs for a night.

She would push and push and push, but he would always pull her right back. She counted on that.

Arya spent a good hour gnawing on her nails, pacing about the room, and simply staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from her bed.

When she finally heard the door opening, her head jerked towards it. Gendry stumbled through the room, quiet and unsaying as he went about shedding his shirt.

She watched him from the bed, her lip caught between her teeth and fingers curling into the pillow. His name was on the tip of her tongue, along with a question of what exactly was going on.

Before she could decide whether to speak or not, he spun around abruptly. His eyes met her confused and curious ones, and he just stared for a long moment. "I want to marry you."

Her heart stopped, and she was incapable of breathing. But then, Arya finally managed to inhale sharply through her teeth. "Wh-what?"

"I want to marry you," he repeated, the same words less confident than they were before. _He is nervous._ She was barely aware that he was moving towards her, and then sitting on the edge of the bed. "Stannis… today he said… he said he would legitimize me. He wants to make me Lord of Storm's End."

This would have had her more surprised, if he had not just asked her to marry him—_was _he asking? "That's good." Her voice had a slight waver, and she licked her lips as she looked back up at him. "That's good, right?"

"I think so." A small smile. "He says we could 'forever bind our houses'…" He laughed then, breathy, soft, and low in his throat. "_House, _I have a House. It sounds so strange."

_Oh. _It dawned on her, and it hurt. It hurt more than she would have liked. "Well," she told him sharply, "I don't won't you to marry me for a _House_ and a lordship." _Do I want him to marry me at all?  
_  
"No, Arya. No." He shook his head with a half-smile, perhaps amused by her misunderstanding. "I'm taking the lordship _for you. S_o we could... if we... if we wanted to."  
_  
Oh. _She was rendered speechless again. She wanted to say something, but what was she to say?

"Honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be a Baratheon. A lord…" He shook his head again. "That's not me."

"Don't, then." Arya was surprised that her words had returned to her. "Don't _be _a Baratheon. We don't need permission to get married—"

"Is it something you want, then?"

_I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.  
_  
Arya Stark just… didn't get married. It was never the plan. But she loved Gendry, she couldn't imagine a life that did not include him. She had… _assumed_. She had assumed he would always be there, a part of her life. He told her time and time again; he was with her, he followed her.

Of course, he would want to get married. _Did I expect him to stick around like some kind of… Dornish paramour?_

This was the first time marriage did not sound like a complete nightmare to her. Because it was _Gendry,_ and he would not try to turn her into something she was not. But he was the type to want children, wasn't he? He would never force her into it, he would make peace with it, and maybe he wouldn't even resent her for it…. but could she do that to him?

He deserved someone who would give him everything he wanted out of life. In wedlock or not, that person was not her.

_Let him go. _The realization hit her like the back of a mailed hand might. Letting him go, that was the right thing to do by him.  
_  
_But no, she wasn't sure if she could do it. She wasn't sure if he would _let her.  
_  
_Push, push,_ she thought, _and_ _he pulls me right back…  
_  
She swallowed thickly, her answer ready on her lips. "Gendry—"

And then, drums. They beat softly in her ears from beneath the deck, but she knew the rhythm was insufferably loud up above. Her head tilted to the side, listening. "Wha—"

Her question was interrupted by shouting. The voice travelled down the hall, outside her door. "His Grace commands everyone on deck! It's time, it's time…"

Arya flew to the door, and crudely opened it in her haste. "Time for what?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. "Where are we?"

"Battle, m'lady." He paused in front of one door that he had been frantically knocking upon as warning. "We're back in Blackwater Bay." He grinned crookedly, flashing yellowed and rotten teeth. "The Red Keep awaits …" He ran off down the hall, knocking on doors, shouting again. "The Red Keep awaits! His Grace wants everyone's arse on deck!"

A war horn called in the distance, and she thought she heard the bells of King's Landing ringing, but perhaps it was all in her head.

_Sansa awaits …_

**A/N: This was late, and the next couple chapters probably will be too. I'm sorry. Please be patient with me?**

**Thank you for the reviews. You guys have been lovely, as always. We're nearing the end, I think. Definitely no more than five chapters to go...**

**But I have ideas for another fic, already. I have actually been REALLY tempted to start it now, but I'm dead set on exercising some self control here, and finishing this one up first.**

**Next week, some action (terribly written action, I'm really bad at it, you guys)...**


	25. Before

Grey eyes stared back at her in the glass, eyes that did not look ready for battle. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and her sword was secured on her hip. She shifted uncomfortably, for hidden beneath her tunic was a thin layer of chainmail.

But not thin enough.

"I won't be able to _move_," she complained.

Melisandre fiery eyes met hers in the mirror. "It could save your life."

"It could cost me my life!" Arya spun around. "I'm _quick_, not—"

"Yes, you are. Quick enough that the mail won't set you back."

She grumbled as she turned back to the mirror. Her gaze drifted to Melisandre's reflection, taking in her tightly laced dress, with heavy, thick fabrics. "Are you really going to wear that?"

"I'm not fighting," she said simply. "Only praying."

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. "Have you seen it?" She looked at her curiously. "The battle, I mean."

The priestess nodded. "Fire. Ash, stained red with blood. I see death and I see rebirth. Through smoke," she continued, "I see a fallen crown, I see new hands picking it up."

"We win, then?"

"Yes, Arya. We win. The _Lord of Light _wins. _Azor Ahai_ wins."

* * *

He was sweet on her tongue. There was something desperate about the kiss, a fear that it could be the last time, a wanting that only war could bring on.

Arya had spotted him, across the deck. He was talking to his half-brother with sad eyes, and then the younger boy clapped a hand on Gendry's shoulder before turning away, fingers twitching across the hilt of the blade in his belt. _Had he asked him not to fight?  
_  
She dragged him away from prying eyes, into a hallway and against a wall, and then brought her hungry lips to his own.

Melisandre had whisked her away once she had arrived on deck, taking it upon herself to ready her for battle. "Armor! Get armor," she called to Gendry as she was pulled beneath the deck. "And don't—"

Her voice was cut off by the smacking of the door being shut. That was the last time she saw him. It probably could not have been more than five minutes since then. But five minutes was too long to be away from him. Who knew how many minutes she had left?

Short of breath, they broke apart when they heard the beginnings of Melisandre's prayer, words of fire and devotion and blessings and protection. _Protection from wildfire,_ she hoped.

"Not enough time," he whispered, breathy. His forehead rested against her own, and his hand caressed her cheek.

"There is never enough time." Her words were pained, and so was her smile. She shook her head and slanted her lips over his once more.

Her back ended up pressed against the wall, her legs around wrapped around him and his hands on her thighs to keep her steady. The mail beneath her tunic chafed as a hand drifted up her side, but she didn't care.

Something hard was digging into her leg—well, two hard somethings, but one she could not identify. As he kissed her neck, her hand wandered to his hip and the unidentifiable object.

She looked down, her fingers dancing across it. "Is that a war hammer?"

"Oh," he blushed. "Yeah, His Grace… he talked to me some, when you were with Lady Melisandre. He gave it to me."

Arya nodded. "You've held a hammer in your hands all your life."

"Yes."

"It suits you." _Much better than a sword does.  
_  
Her hand drifted across his breeches, to the _other _hard something. She dipped into his waistband, and he groaned low in his throat, burying his face into her shoulder and breaking their eye contact.

She undid the laces, pulling him out and slowly stroking up and down. "Don't tease me." He sounded almost in pain. "We're about to go into _battle_—"

"I'm not teasing." She fumbled with her own laces.

"Right here?" _Someone will see, _his bewildered eyes said. "Right now?"

"Right here. Right now."

She kissed him roughly, and with another groan he hastily tugged her breeches down. Her hand guided him inside her, no need or time for anything else.

A gasp fell from her lips. Her hand tightened its grip on his neck. She moved with him, rocking against him as he moved in and out, their bodies in a practiced and familiar sync with one another.

No one entered the darkened hallway, and hopefully no one heard the noises either. Gasps and moans, hitches and shudders of breath, whispered names…

Melisandre's preaching was in the distance, joined by a chorus of other voices, but neither could really process the prayers. Nor could they care.

Her release came too soon, Gendry's thumb circling around that bundle of nerves and his whispered words in her ear, begging her to let go. "Please, Arya, I can't..."

But she never wanted to let go. She wanted this to last forever.

It couldn't, though. Arya knew better than anyone that nothing lasted forever, no matter how much she wished and prayed and longed for it.

And then she realized. She whispered it, eyes glistening and her lip caught between her teeth.

"I think I want to marry you, too."

* * *

Blood was on her tongue, her bottom lip raw and torn by teeth. It stung.

Anxiety had her in its clutches, the pounding of her heart loud in her ears and her stomach twisting into borderline painful knots.

She had been somewhat relaxed after being well and properly fucked against a wall, albeit a tad bit over emotional. But that calm was gone.

The drumbeat did nothing to soothe her, but only left her even more on edge. It vibrated every time it was struck, loud and unsettling. And every time, she would flinch.

"What is the point of the stupid drums?" she growled through her teeth. "Shouldn't we try to catch them unawares?"

Gendry stood beside her, much more stoic than she currently managed. But Arya could still glimpse the panic behind his eyes. "Morale?"

"Morale," she muttered under her breath. "I don't think it's helping."

Her eyes scanned over the surrounding crowd: men from boyhood to adulthood and something in between, men she knew by name and some with faces she could not place, sellswords and lords, she-bears, and an onion knight and his king.

All of them looked nervous, though some more so than others. Some were better at masking their fear.

Melisandre, though. She was not afraid.

If she was, she did not give the slightest hint of it.

She stood at the outermost edge of the massive warship, her hands gripping the railing tight whilst scarlet hair and skirts whirled in the wind, chanting her chants to her Lord of Light.

King's Landing was in the distance, before her eyes and Melisandre's. The Red Keep was risen high and mighty in the night sky, the tallest towers hidden amongst clouds and fog.

Her shoulders were relaxed, her posture and demeanor set with confidence. Arya felt that if she could see the priestess's face, she might see a smile playing upon her lips.

The Red Woman finally turned to face them all, with a small smile as Arya predicted, and was joined by the King to light a bonfire. Aboard the ship.

On the deck. The _wooden _deck.

Salladhor Saan would be none too pleased.

Arya tuned out the grand speech, her gaze focused over the priestess's head and on the castle that was so unfamiliar and so sickeningly familiar at the same time.

"It looks different."

She glanced to him at his quiet words, and then back to the castle, only staring harder than before. "I think we're just different."

* * *

Ser Davos rowed them down to the River Gate in silence, quiet and unseen in the shadows. Arya wasn't sure if the Hand was relieved or angry to be left out of the first attack.

Over by the Iron Gate, their fleet was approaching. And up along the castle walls, men were waiting, with arrows and stones and fire. _Not wildfire, _she pleaded to any god that would listen.

Arya was going to get Sansa out either way, if Stannis lost or won. But she needed the distraction they would provide, the chaos. She needed to remain unnoticed.

And her northmen. They were aboard those ships, lives she was responsible for. _Not wildfire, _she pleaded again. _Not today.  
_  
From the little boat, she would not look. She would not sneak a glance at the Iron Gate or Salladhor Saan's fleet. She would not peek over to her shoulder, just to catch a glimpse of scarlet robes, or fire raining down. She would not look.

But then she did. It was an explosion, loud and thrumming in her ears. Her head jerked so quickly, so impulsively, to see.

The sky was colored green, queer flames and mist dancing dangerously. It circled around the fleet, but never so much as kissed any of the ships.

Another ablaze arrow was loosed, a spec in the air from her current distance. Ten or so feet away from the fleet, it bounced back in the green smoke. At contact, another loud _boom _vibrated through her. Flames bubbled up, and angry sparks gave way.

_Like an invisible shield, _Arya thought. _Melisandre's praying paid off. _"She did it," she whispered in awe. "She actually did it."

Davos grunted. "She doesn't surprise me anymore."

Gendry's eyes were just as intent on the spectacle as hers. "How?" was all he said.

Davos grunted again as answer, through his practiced, silent rowing strokes. "We're here."

At that, he had her full attention. She glanced around, and saw that they were only a few feet from the shore. Upwards, there was a tower.

"Is there a guard?" Gendry asked, reading her mind.

"Maybe," he glanced up as well. "It's too dark for him to see though."

He got out of the boat, and nodded for them to follow suit. Arya did so first. Water soaked through her boots and breeches, up to her knees. Gendry scrambled out next, much more awkwardly for the small boat was not so accommodating to his size.

After they were all ashore, even the boat, Davos assessed the gate. He walked along the castle walls, until he paused before the lowest and most suitable one. "We climb here."  
_  
_Gendry went first, and with a boost from the Onion Knight, he could reach the top of the brick wall and pull himself up. Arya went next, her boot in Davos' palm, and her hand clasped in Gendry's tugging one.

Once atop the wall, Gendry reached down for Davos, though Arya could tell the Hand would need a boost up. "I'm not sure I can—"

"This is where I leave you," he whispered. "I go to the Iron Gate now."

The Iron Gate would be complete chaos. That's why she had avoided it, for her brothers' and Gendry's sake. "We can get some rope—"

"I'm _Hand of the King_," he shook his head. "I should be with the King, should I not?" He smiled, then. "Stay safe, m'lady." He nodded to Gendry. "You too. For the little princess's sake. And Edric's."

Gendry started, "About him—"

"He's been assigned onto one of the last waves of attacks," Davos assured. "He won't be happy about it, but… he'll be alive."

"Thank you."

The Onion Knight nodded.

And then he left. "Stay safe, Ser Davos," she whispered as his form disappeared into the night.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Arya tugged Gendry along by the hand, ignoring his whispered question. "Shhhh."

They were behind a shop, attempting to stay hidden in the shadows. She poked her head around the brick wall, rough against her neck and hand where it grazed. There was no one around, as she predicted—the townsfolk would be hiding.

If she hadn't known any better, King's Landing had been completely abandoned.

"Do you _know_ where we're going?"

"Yes," she hissed. "There is a… secret passage way of sorts. Into the Red Keep. I've…" There wasn't time to explain the entire story. "Just shut up and trust me, will you?"

He nodded and she went back to peering around the wall. "We need to get there, before… _before_."

Before they've broken the gates. The thump and clank of the ram striking the gate could be heard all across the city.

Arya didn't want to get caught up in the battlements. _For Jon's sake, _she told herself. _For Rickon's and Bran's. For Gendry's._

Satisfied that it was clear, she ran across the street and into an alleyway, dragging Gendry with her. They cut through, making a right turn, and then they were in another deserted street.

She paused then, pressing her back against the wall. _Which way? How much further?  
_  
It had been three years since she was in King's Landing, three years since she had been chasing cats and wandering blindly through an unknown tunnel beneath the Red Keep until she ended up out by the river.

"The Street of Steel is just over there."

Gendry's vague voice interrupted her internal debate of whether to turn right or left. She glanced up, and followed his intense stare towards the direction of his old home. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, I guess so." The Great Sept of Baelor was just over there, too.

"_Tobho Mott _is just over there."

"Gendry—"

But then he was running. Running down the Street of Steel, running towards Tobho Mott's shop.

He pulled her with him, and her feet stumbled to keep up. She dug her heels into the gravel, and her hand clasped around his forearm. "Just _wait,_" she told him as she pulled him around and to a halt.

Another loud clank of the gates thundered, followed with a roar of cheers, and she knew. They had been opened.

"We need to get to the Red Keep, _right now." _Her voice was high and panicked. "We need to get to my sister, before… _before. _Gendry, please—"

"I have to see him, Arya. I have to ask him _why. _I have to yell and I have to thank him, save him. Hit him—I don't know! I just… have to see him."

No. _No, _she wanted to tell him. But instead, she simply bit her lip and said, "I'll…" She swallowed thickly. "I'll wait for you here. It's safer that way." The lie was bitter and unsavory on her tongue. "Be quick."

"I know you, Arya. Don't run off. Don't leave without me," he said. "Promise me you won't."

His eyes were intent on hers, looking for any hint of deceit or hesitation. She tilted her chin up, not backing away from his gaze. "Promise," she told him evenly.

He kissed her softly on the lips, and she wished there was time to linger. His thumb stroked her cheek, and he brought his lips to her forehead. "I'll be quick."

And then he turned around, running out into the night. She stared after him until she no longer could, until the shadows completely took him away from her.

Then she turned the corner. _Right, _she decided.

**AN: I know I promised action, but I couldn't get this chapter finished by Tuesday and it's been over a week since I last updated, so I cut this one short. I swear, the action is coming next chapter!**

**Thank you for the reviews and follows, as always. And also for being patient with me these past couple of weeks about late updates and inconsistent chapter lengths!**


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